


A Fated String Dyed Red

by maybeembee



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mob, Attempted Sexual Assault, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exploitation, F/M, Gang Violence, Illegal Activities, M/M, Multi, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Physical Abuse, References to Drugs, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:30:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeembee/pseuds/maybeembee
Summary: There is a theory that true loves are destined to meet due to an imaginary string tying them together, even across great distances and cultures.If the string happens to be red from all the blood spilled along the way...well, so be it.The MafiaAU that I doubt many would ask for, but it is what it is.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there. Thanks for stopping by. This AU was inspired by the amazing art that is currently on twitter and instagram under the category #SPMafiaAU. Particularly this artwork by @Kibstar- (https://twitter.com/Kibsart/status/937541624187383808).  
> I do not own any creative rights to any of the characters in this story. You can thank the writers of South Park for that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter is a break down of characters and roles in the plot line while I continue to brainstorm where to start the story since it has so many working parts.

Mafia AU – Character Breakdown

**Main Organization Members**  
• Token Black: Don/Boss. “Owns” Black Hand Tailor Shops (3 shops total). Claims to be only a fashion consultant.  
• Craig Tucker: Consigliere. Right hand to Token. Handles “communication” between the shops. Deals with the group's lawyer Thomas to handle legal issues.  
• Clyde Donovan: Underboss. “Manages” one of the shops, and assigns jobs to the various “tailors” (Capos) that work for Token.  
• Eric Cartman: Don/Boss. “Owns” Cartmenez Construction Company. Claims to only consult for them on designs. Allied with Jewish mobsters to gain higher power status, despite his own strong religious convictions.  
• Stan Marsh: Consigliere. Right hand to Cartman. Handles “communication” between job sites. Deals with the group's lawyer Kyle to handle legal concerns.  
• Kenny McCormick: Underboss. Assigns jobs to the “foremen” (Capos) that work for Cartman. Legendary Hitman “Mysterion.” Said to have 9 lives, or at least a lifetime contract with death.

 **Associates/Supporting Characters**  
• Kyle Broflovski: Lawyer (indirectly) to Cartman’s organization. Owns a joint firm with his younger brother. Also associated with the Jewish mob, making him Cartman’s link to the alliance. Mainly deals with Stan.  
• Thomas Touret: Lawyer (indirectly) to Token’s organization. Publicly he is a civil rights attorney for a partnered firm. Mainly deals with Craig regarding bail and investigations. Unrequited interest in the consigliere.  
• Leopold “Butters” Stotch: ER Doctor for the night shift at Hells Pass Hospital. Tends to “Mysterion” frequently despite not having his real name. Does not ask many questions, but will answer Mysterion’s questions for him.  
• Jimmy Valmer: Owner of CLASSi Strip Lounge. Allows the mobsters to use as a meeting place for both organizations, as well as operation hub for other illegal activities in exchange for being excused from paying for protection.  
• Tweek Tweek: Stripper/Dancer @ CLASSi Lounge. Forced to work at the lounge by his parents to ensure a relationship with Token and his “sneakers” for the special ingredient needed for their coffee (an ingredient they keep him addicted to). Stripper name: “Stripe” (to match when he and Sparkle pair up on stage).  
• Bebe Stevens: Stripper/Dancer @ CLASSi Lounge. Working at nights to pay for nursing school. Until she finds a rich man to take care of her at least. Stripper name: “Sparkle” (to match when she and Stripe pair up on stage).  
• Wendy Testaberger: Accountant Associate for Cartman’s organization. Owns her own firm. Wonders constantly why she continues to put up with the vilely visceral but charming boss.  
• Nichole Daniels: Accountant Associate for Token’s organization. Known to the “tailors” as the Head Seamstress. Known by all to be the Don’s Woman.  
• Damien Thorn: Hitman for Hire. No particular affiliation to either group. Stakes out jobs at CLASSi Lounge. Also to keep eyes on a _certain_ bartender.  
• Phillip “Pip” Pirrup: Bartender at CLASSi Lounge. Orphaned at a young age following his parent’s death. Adopted by the Tweek’s for child labor purposes, and works at the lounge for the same reason as his adopted brother. 


	2. Two Roads Diverged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I must say I am beyond excited that there are others as obsessed with this AU as I am. Thank you for the wonderful comments and feedback. Hopefully this will live up to your expectations, or at the very least keep you entertained. Definitely no pressure or anything. 
> 
> Of note: while the racial slurs are used to keep true to Cartmans character, it is not something I chose lightly. I struggled with the idea, but my beta reader felt it would make the characterization more realistic.

There’s something about having a person grovel for mercy at your feet that gives off the allusion of power.  
  
On the other hand, having someone whine to you constantly about problems and concerns might seem to get tedious after a while.  
  
Right?  
  
\----------------  
  
“When will these idiots learn to respect my authoritah?” Cartman stood ominously over the body laid out before him. He purposefully kept distance to avoid any stains on his new Armani loafers, despite dried blood painting his fingers.  
  
“Boss, aren’t you concerned about being here? The pigs have been up our assess more than usual lately,” Kenny pulled off his painter’s mask to address his superior. The smell of copper instantly hit his nose; a familiar scent in their secluded supply warehouse.  
  
“He’s right. This looks suspicious having us all here well after operating hours,” Stan spoke from his lookout position near the exit.  
  
Though he remained slightly portly in stature, Cartman’s significant height increase over the years granted him the ability to tower over his subordinates, “Screw that! Malkinson sealed his own fate. A rat deserves to die in the shadows. I will not have a snitch in my ranks, and if I have to get my hands dirty to send that message then so be it!”  
  
Kenny popped the mask back over his mouth hastily to assist in removing the heftiest evidence of their evening activities.  
  
“And while I’m thinking about it. Stan you need to get in touch with that kike lawyer and ask him why the hell we pay him so much money to let the cops get this close to us! If he’s going to Jew me out of my life savings, he better do his damn job,” Cartman snapped.  
  
Stan thought about his phrasing before opening his mouth, “I’ll make it happen Don. Just know that we have to try and be careful on our end too if we want Kyle to keep us under the radar.” Discretion was never their leader’s strongest suit, but he certainly didn’t garner respect by being conservative.  
  
“For fuck’s sake Stan, quit defending your little boyfriend and get it done! I don’t care how it happens, but I want the cops watching their own assess instead of my every move,” Cartman huffed impatiently while stomping his foot hard against the concrete, “Scott giving away what little he did will mean rearranging our plans for distribution. Calling in new crews. Taking care of payoffs. Finding other sources. Do you know what a headache this is gonna cause me?!”  
  
“Alright, relax we’ve got this. Kenny will work on restructuring crews and foremen tonight. I’ll get downtown tomorrow to see Kyle about security,” Stan nodded in affirmation of Cartman’s demands.  
  
Both men cringed at a loud metallic bang across the supply room. A muffled scream followed, and the two ran with weapons drawn.  
  
The sight before them should have been surprising and grotesque to anyone else. However, this wasn’t unusual even prior to their current activities.  
  
“Metal sheets fell off the shelving near the back. Kenny has a pretty deep gash in his thigh. I’m thinkin’ he’s gonna need medical so he doesn’t bleed out,” one of the crew members attempted to explain. Stan reholstered his Colt 1911 to assist his friend currently losing consciousness on the floor. A gaping gouge revealed extensive damage to the layers of skin, and some muscle tissue clearly exposed to the chilled night air.  
  
Stan slapped the blonde’s face in quick pats, “Kenny? You still with me bud?”  
  
“Mpmm mpmm,” faintly sounded out from behind the mask. A sign they had a small window of time to get him to the doc; red rapidly dying the ground around his right leg.  
  
“Dude how you manage to get into these situations will always be a mystery to me. Hang tight, we’ll get you some help,” the noirette applied pressure in an attempt to stop further blood loss.  
  
“Well, take him and drop him off at the ER. Hells Pass should be used to his dumb ass coming in late. You know what name to give. And Stan, I want all that addressed by the end of the week!” Cartman sauntered towards the front exit of the building, “Screw you guys, I'm going home.”  
  
\--------------  
  
“Don, the Head Seamstress wants to know if she should pack up the dinner made for the two of you tonight,” Clyde strolled through the office door with Craig trailing behind him. Token rubbed his temple, brows furrowed in frustration. The implied discontent did not go unnoticed.  
  
“Craig I want projections on both sets of books for each shop by tomorrow,” Token firmly stated. He continued his orders decisively, “Clyde make sure our previous visitor understands that when I say 24 hours for payback, it better be in my hands before that window expires. I’d hate to see his little girl taken away because the cops received a tip about the large stash of powder buried beneath his begonias out back.”  
  
“I’ll impress upon him that your warm generosity only extends within the time constraints of his contract,” Clyde smirked, hands tucked into his perfectly hemmed dress slacks. While his attractiveness in childhood may have been determined by his father’s business, there was no denying the clean-shaven brunette could easily take his spot in the top five sporting high cheekbones and a well built physique.  
  
“We have one request left. Our liason is here about some concerns at CLASSi’s,” Craig announced from the door to await instructions. Much like his fellow associate, his noir locks were closely shaved at the neck and his blue eyes contrasted well against lightly tanned skin.  
  
He received a curt nod, “Time is money, let’s keep moving boys.”  
  
Metallic clicking noises were followed by a jovial voice, “Well fellas, don’t look so serious. It’s just your old pal!” Craig rolled his eyes while overseeing that proper respects were paid to the Don.  
  
“Cut the crap Vallmer, just tell us what the fuck you want,” Craig started, but shut it seeing Token lift his hand.  
  
“Uncouth as my advisor may be, he has a point. Let’s get to what you need from me,” Token’s thoughts were direct and dry in delivery.  
  
“Don, w-w-we have some issues with the customers not guh-guh-getting the amount of product they ordered. I’m af-f-f-fraid some of the tailors may be holding out,” Jimmy’s stutter still hindered conversation, but it could be said it had improved somewhat over their adolescent years. Craig leaned against the wall to get comfortable, remaining attentive to the discussion.  
  
“How much are we talking Jimmy?” Token’s expression remained calm. Clyde and Craig exchanged quick glances across the room, but otherwise remained stone faced like their leader preferred. After all, emotion has no place in business.  
  
“Oh-o-only three-fourths of the promised amount is r-r-reaching the lounge for distribution. Folks are w-w-wondering if switching to Cartman’s product is better, knowing his….fearsome reputation and all,” Jimmy shrugged nonchalantly, observing Craig and Clyde both slide closer to Token’s side. Their usual threat of breaking legs wouldn’t work with the cripple, and he seemed empowered by this fact.  
  
“How-how-however. If your men here were to come address the communication issue, I would think it would cuh-calm any worries your customers express,” Jimmy shrank back slightly when Token rose from his chair. Coat and hat were collected as the Don’s broad shoulders and imposing height filled the entire door frame.  
  
“Clyde, go with Jimmy and take care of the distribution issues right now. Craig, I want you to follow-up tomorrow night at the lounge to make sure product is moving more efficiently. Bring Clyde along. Take note of anyone whose inventory and profit don’t match up. Arrange a meeting in the fitting room later on this week for those who are keeping merchandise for themselves,” the door knob turned harshly under Token’s grasp, “Should it be determined that revenue will continue to decrease with our current tailors managing the sales, I will see to them being _relocated_ personally.”  
  
Token’s speech remained deadly calm, a small smirk gracing his undeniably attractive visage, “Now if you don’t mind gentlemen, I’ll be going home to address the Head Seamstress.”  
  
“Of course boss,” resounded in unison following his departure. The three exited not long after, separating for the night to accomplish what had been assigned to them. To interpret the man’s words as suggestions rather than law would be a fatal error regardless of his neutral presentation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact of the day: I grew up the youngest girl in an Italian-American family with 7 older brothers and an extremely opinionated matriarch as our mother. My brothers used to joke we could start our own mob, which is probably why I have a love of this universe.


	3. Threaded Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to pace the story properly, so eventually promised pairings will be more prominent. Hopefully it's keeping you engaged without storming too far ahead. For now, enjoy the new twists and turns introduced in this chapter!

Leopold “Butters” Stotch recently returned to his childhood hometown after accepting the position as the overnight ER Physician at Hells Pass Hospital. He had some interesting experiences over the past two months that furthered his medical knowledge, but mostly spent time stitching up tweaked out idiots who felt they could literally fly when riding their high. He forgot the crazy antics residents could get into around here. Being pulled away from the community at age nine didn’t give him the chance to get too familiar with their daily brand of craziness. Or the substances circulating rampantly through the cities feeding these behaviors for that matter.  
  
“Dr. B, we’ve got a trauma in the bay!” the on duty nurse called from the front door.  
  
_”Oh hamburgers,”_ Butters allowed his brain to kick in overdrive with disaster scenario protocols. Only one hour into his twelve hour shift, and already presented with the burden of making life or death calls.  
  
The man ran towards Gary’s voice calling for others to assist, expecting paramedics to be pulling their patient out of the ambulance. Butters slipped gloves out of his pockets, and prepared for triage decision making.  
  
No ambulance. No medics. None of the normal chaos associated with emergency situations at the hospital. Not another soul outside the doors expect one solitary hooded man, unconscious and bleeding from his right thigh. Staff could not explain to Butters how he arrived at their sliding doors, or the story behind his current injury.  
  
Butters huffed getting the male on the gurney with Gary’s assistance. The hood on his head fell back to reveal ruffled locks a similar color to the doctor’s own, maybe a shade darker. It could be noted the patient possessed alluring physical features that surely would have people flocking to him, but alas there was no one around him and no wallet in his pockets to attempt identification with.  
  
Not that the young doctor would notice something as frivolous as the man’s sharp jawline or sturdy build while he lays bleeding out on the stretcher. Especially without knowing who the heck this guy was, “Do we at least have a name for this patient?”  
  
“He’s been here several times before. The only name he ever gives us is Mysterion. Although we haven’t seen him in a few months now, which is a record for our repeat customer,” Gary smiled sadly, “He usually comes in alone and unconscious like this, requiring extensive medical attention. Then disappears shortly after he’s able to ambulate on his own.”  
  
They settled “Mysterion” into a triage room across from Dr. B’s office towards the back of the ER to monitor for elopement following treatment. After assessing the extent of damage, staff began disinfecting and suturing the gaping wound stretching Mysterion’s thigh. While the injury wasn’t devastating to overall well-being, Butters knew it would take a week to properly heal without movement being impaired.  
  
A pang of sadness filled the medic’s heart, noting that it must be lonely for Mysterion to come to this ER by himself everytime, and leave with no one’s help but his own. Butters felt a strong familiarity with the man lying in front of him, but could not place the face or name for that matter. Perhaps he identified with having no one to support him during painful times.  
  
It would be a few hours before the man awoke so staff could get more details for discharge planning. “Finish closing him up. I suppose it’s in God’s hands now,” Butters sighed, silently sending up a quick prayer his father had taught their congregation for those in need. Gary nodded in agreement, Butters acutely aware of the fact that the Mormon nurse wouldn’t be offended by his religious reference. Not that anything ever seemed to bother the guy in the first place. 

\------------------------

“Broflovski Brothers Law Firm, please hold,” ignoring the caller on the line, Karen McCormick smiled brightly at their visitor, “Stanley, glad you made it! Kyle’s expecting you.” Stan grinned at Karen, knowing that Kyle’s overfunctioning brain probably told his receptionist about his visit several times. They exchanged simple conversation while she reached out over the intercom.  
  
“Have you heard from Kenny? I tried to call him last night, but he hasn’t answered,” Karen inquired after Kyle gave permission for Stan to come back.  
  
Stan shrugged off the question, “He had a couple of things to take care of last time I saw him, haven’t really talked to him since yesterday morning.” It was emphatically emphasized to every capo or soldier that the underboss’s sister was off limits. Kenny kept it so Karen had no knowledge of his life within the organization. It was safer that way, and Stan understood his friend’s rigidity regarding this matter.  
  
Karen nodded as she returned to her phone call, motioning towards the hallway on her right housing the lead lawyer’s office. Stan nodded in appreciation of her assistance, happy to see she was thriving after the life of poverty and abuse the McCormick children were born into. While lost in thought, Stan didn’t realize he had walked on autopilot to the familiar dark oak door. He forcefully pushed against the heavy wood, knowing that he would get an earful from his boyfriend for just barging in.  
  
Kyle jumped when the door swung open suddenly, swearing out loud at the figure strolling towards his desk, “Dammit Stan, we’ve been over this! You could knock first.” Stan smirked, leaning over the desk to plant a kiss on his love’s temple.  
  
“Why? You hiding something dirty from me,” Stan winked, Kyle’s cheeks turning redder than his slicked auburn hair, “You know I’d rather have a front row show.”  
  
“Ugh, you’re ridiculous,” Kyle whined, “You’ve been hanging out too much with Kenny, that pervert.” Despite his initial annoyance, Kyle chuckled at his comment seeing Stan laugh as well. The two settled quickly to discuss the topic at hand, “ So, your boss has concerns that need to be addressed immediately according to the voicemail I had waiting for me when I arrived this morning. What does fat….how can I help him now?” Stan nodded, both men knowing that Cartman’s recent rise to power changed how irritations with his personality could be expressed.  
  
“He’s concerned about the pigs getting too close to his truffles. He says he hired you to make sure his hounds were the only ones handling them. Says the pigs trying to find it destroy whole root systems,” Stan hated the game of subtlety in business conversations, but bugs could be anywhere according to his higher up, “Whatever resources you have better be in use, and then new ones should be established to make sure truffle hunting stays with his dogs.”  
  
Kyle rolled his eyes, “Perhaps if he didn’t order his hounds to be so _aggressive_ in their hunts, it would be easier to keep the pigs from following the same trails. The pigs definitely know the sound of a squeal, and will seek it out just as fervently as the truffle itself.”  
  
“I hear you Ky, really I do. But you know how Cartman is about his truffles, or anything that belongs to him for that matter. Any ideas on how we shake the pigs?” Stan looked to the lawyer for guidance.  
  
“Perhaps we lure one of the main pigs close enough to trap him?” Kyle suggested, “Focus on the pig that strayed away from the others. Maybe he’s overzealous, maybe he’s reckless, but he’s also the only one at the spot that could implicate him. Then force the idea of guilt by association for the rest of the group hunting with him.”  
  
Stan smiled mischievously, “I do believe that Cartman would label that as some sneaky Jew logic. And he would love it.” Kyle grinned in response, despite Cartman’s racist mindset. While his prejudice was annoying and borderline abusive at times, Kyle did feel a slight satisfaction staying one step ahead of the investigators the DEA sent to bust up their operations. It was a precarious game of chess, and he managed to keep the upper hand.  
  
“I don’t think I mentioned my cousin Kyle is coming in to town. We’ll be having dinner at Buca di Faggoncini this Thursday night. Plan to be there,” Kyle noted as Karen came over the intercom to alert him of his next appointment.  
  
Stan groaned while walking to the door, “Do I have to wear a tie and everything?” His partner’s sharp look was all the answer he needed, “Fine, fine. I’ll see you later.” 

\------------------------

“Clyde, there better be a damn good reason your boys aren’t here,” Craig growled, smashing his cigarette butt into the bar’s ashtray, “Otherwise I could interpret their behavior as a sign of guilt.”  
  
“I told them to be at CLASSi’s at 11. It’s only 10:45 Craig, give it a rest,” Clyde rolled his eyes at the cranky attitude rolling off his neighbor, “Did I keep you up past your bedtime or something?”  
  
The tailors he trusted most working the scene knew that patrons would be trashed and gathered around the stages later on in the evening, so they planned to meet when all eyes would be focused elsewhere. Not that Clyde hadn’t explained all of this to Craig the first time he bitched about why the meeting had to be so fucking late.  
  
“Evening gents, what can I get you,” a thin young man with sunflower blonde hair pulled back in a short ponytail addressed the two.  
  
“Some damn peace and quiet. Fuck off Pip,” Craig snapped. The boy’s accent wore on Craig’s already fraying nerves, not aware of the ominous presence looming at the other end of the bar.  
  
Pip threaded his fingers through his tresses with an exhausted smile, “Right-o then, just let me know should you need anything.” Clyde warily eyed the dark haired male cutting a glance in their direction. Two patrons between them seemed similarly irritable with the bartender, snapping a similar “Fuck off frenchie” at Pip.  
  
That ominous presence Clyde noticed swiftly knocked the stool from under the patron uttering the obscenity, taking obvious pleasure in the smack of face hitting concrete floor. Pip attempted to protest before it escalated, “Damien really, it’s quite alright love.”  
  
Any objections fell on deaf ears as the assassin crouched down to the floor, “I suggest making an effort to be decent to those who are genuinely hospitable in nature, or else you’ll learn what it’s like to be on the receiving end of my brand of _kindness_.” He glanced up at Craig with a cold stare, quickly returning to his seat across from the timid blonde.  
  
Before anything further could be instigated, their capos arrived to greet the consigliere and underboss. Michael and Pete had been recognized as trustworthy early on, and Clyde seemed to easily interact with them despite the lingering ideals of non-conformist behavior. The four slipped into an isolated booth further from the stage, waving off any waitress that came by to take orders. The two gave a general overview of operations around the club for Craig's sake, and updated Clyde on any pertinent issues with collecting protection money for the week.  
  
"The Tweeks keep hinting at only paying half the amount if the product quality keeps declining, but no other problems besides being mouthy posers," Pete noted the main stand-out from their rounds.  
  
"The next time they decide to get cute, remind them they're always welcome to come in for a complimentary fitting at the tailor shop to discuss these concerns with the boss personally," Clyde chuckled at the sneer twisted across Craig's face. The Tweek's may be one of their highest priority customers, but their remarks had grown bolder in regards to their concerns with Token's business model.  
  
As if a couple who had to rely on the tailors' special "additive" for their shitty coffee to keep their business afloat had any room to question someone else's business sense.  
  
“We brought those names you needed” Pete slid over a folded piece of paper. Craig opened it while Clyde nodded to keep talking. “It seems that some of the sneakers delivering the product from the shop to CLASSi’s have been ending up with more than their fair share,” Pete flipped his dark bangs from over his eye.  
  
“So the names on this sheet are those with extra?” Craig questioned.  
  
“Yeah. Both of them have different areas with separate client sets, but somehow manage to make drop offs to the same client not in their area before delivering to Kevin here. They must be exchanging product between each other, and labeling it as a drop off to avoid questions. So lame,” Michael rolled his eyes in disgust.  
  
“Good work guys, we’ll take it from here,” Clyde nodded, dismissing the two for evening. Once they were out of earshot, Clyde and Craig resumed the conversation.  
  
“You know what Token wants arranged,” Craig’s monotone never wavered, “The tailors need to get the sneakers to the shop. You got a plan in mind?”  
  
Clyde nodded when he saw the names on the paper, “I think the tailors will be passing along a selective message to our boys that pick-up changed to Thursday this week. Let the boss know they’ll be ready for their fitting with him.”


	4. String of Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay! Life man, it’s a killer sometimes. Anyway, this chapter ended up longer than I was expecting, so hopefully that helps. The comments and kudos are all noted and very much appreciated!
> 
> In case there’s any confusion from last chapter, sneakers were men the Mafia used to traffic drugs to buyers. Not shoes or anything like that.

Token established several unspoken but understood expectations for his men. Profitability first and foremost. Communication follows chain of command. Meticulous attention to detail. Business remains within the business only. While all of these lessons carried equal weight, the most important was burned into each tailor’s brain swiftly.

If _**she**_ implements an order, it is executed immediately without question or complaint.

“I need to speak with the Don,” Nichole called out when entering through the double doors.

“Right away Head Seamstress!” tailors jumped to action. Taking her coat to hang on the rack, producing the shop’s books to review, and awaiting further instructions should she give them. Her stride confident and head held high, she made her way to the familiar office many would deem deadly. Relaxed noir tresses fell to her shoulders, muscles defined but still sporting a feminine hourglass figure that gained notice of many men deemed unworthy. Only one man managed to catch her attention, gain her respect, and maintain her unwavering loyalty as partner in both business and life. 

“Token, we have a problem,” Nichole sighed at the man sitting before her, greeting him with a kiss and nuzzling his cheek. Documents dropped onto the desktop, as well as her strong persona to show respect to the don.

“If it has to do with that damn florist again, I’m not paying a fortune for flowers no matter how exotic they are,” Token shook his head. Wedding planning required more and more of his decision making time usually dedicated to the famiglia. 

“No, he’s been overly agreeable since our personal visit to the shop,” Nichole assured before changing topics, “Despite their continued disrespect regarding business practices, the Tweeks were loyal enough to let me know some investigators have been hanging around their coffeehouse asking questions of the patrons.” Token’s eyebrows raised at the news, prompting Nichole to continue, “It’s cutting into profits based on those ledgers I gave you. The Tweeks are concerned about how much information the detectives already have.”

“Jimmy recently came by with his own concerns regarding discord in distribution to CLASSi’s, so I suppose I’ll have to send Craig to handle this as well,” Token frowned at the thought. Craig had a rocky history in his interactions with the Tweeks, but Clyde definitely wasn’t the man to handle legal concerns. Craig’s relationship with their counsel kept them on the down low this long, and Thomas would need to hear about this in order to prepare for further complications. “I assume the Tweeks are requesting an audience, or at least a consultation to address the new visitors?” Token inquired.

“They were hoping one of your boys could come by before the sneakers drop off their next delivery to see what can be put in place to ease the customers’ fears,” Nichole nodded at her fiancé, “We should avoid the coffee shop in case the investigators return, so they were hoping we could meet their representatives at CLASSi’s before performances to discuss what has been noticed.” 

“Very well, I’ll have Craig there this evening before they open. That will keep him free for our fitting session tomorrow evening,” Token jotted a note for himself on the desk calendar. 

“You are referring to your fitting for your wedding wardrobe correct?” Nicole cocked an eyebrow in challenge. Token opened his mouth at first, then closed it with a guilty air about his features. “Oh no, you’re not cancelling this again Token Black! This is the most important fitting of our lives, and it takes priority!” Nichole huffed at the man’s forgetfulness.

“This has to be done for the good of the business Nichole,” Token argued.

“And that fitting has to be done for the good of our marriage,” Nichole snapped, “Possibly the greatest good you’ll ever get!” Daggers flew between the pair, but the don held firm until she gave in, “Fine! I’ll reschedule again. But it _will_ be taken care of before the weekend is over.”

\---------------------------------------------

Butters had never been so grateful to be close to the end of his shift, only three more hours before he could crawl into his bed to pass out from exhaustion. He ended up having to stay extra hours to help out a colleague who had a legal emergency. Apparently his daughter was being taken away, and Butters imagined his fellow physician was being questioned for something serious if that was the case. Gary sat chipperly interacting with an overly chatty elderly woman who brought her confused husband. How the young nurse managed to stay so positive despite sleep deprivation never ceased to amaze and slightly annoy Butters all at once. 

“Hey! Anybody out there gonna help a poor cripple?” a gravelly voice called from across the way. Butters slapped himself awake to assist their resident patient. Mysterion had been sedated for several hours, but woke periodically when Butters changed his bandages or adjusted his IV medications. There wasn’t consistent coherence, but Butters managed to figure out that Mysterion wanted a cab to his job where he could pick up his truck to go home. Getting information required a little work due to Mysterion being well, mysterious, in describing his life and support system outside of their ER. 

“Good morning! Let’s check and see if you’re healed up enough to transport back to work,” Butters greeted. He checked vitals, and charted significant improvement in blood pressure and pulse since admission. Butters still felt a strange gut intuition that this man was different than the other patients he had encountered, but dismissed it as harmless curiosity.

Patient intently watched physician, smirking at the slight blush that bloomed on his face when pants were lowered to check the injury. Mysterion wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “Dr. B, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to check me out.” His grin widened at the slight sputter emitted from the blonde man. Reveling in his ability to fluster, he continued, “I’m just messing with ya. Thanks for patching me up. Most doctors don’t have the kind of handiness with stitches you do, or the kindness you handle them with. Gary’s the only one in this place whose ever been nice to me. Not that it counts for much in his case.” 

Butters nodded slightly, attempting to regain his composure from Mysterion’s original commentary. “I suppose I treat everyone equal when it comes to giving my best care possible. After all, it’s my job to heal others no matter their circumstances. No saint without a past, and no sinner without a future.” 

Mysterion was caught off guard at his heartfelt philosophy on medicine, studying the doctor intently as the bandages were changed one last time before discharge. 

Butters beamed, “Well it looks like this should hold you over for now, I’ll send a list of medical necessities with your prescriptions. But you better get straight home once you’re able to get your truck mister! And I really want you to find someone to drive you home if you can. You’re risking ripping your stitches trying to operate the pedals. I know you won’t tell me ‘bout your friends or nothing, but it’s important if you want to heal quickly.”

Mysterion sat quietly, still lost in thought. Butters made a few more notes in the chart, preparing to leave when Gary came to help the patient out the door. Before he could exit, the man finally spoke.

“Hey doc. You really think…” the blonde stranger trailed off before finishing the thought, a frown on his face, “You really think people deserve to be cared for no matter their pasts?” The despondent look that passed over his patient’s face tore Butters’s heart in two.

“Well….Well course I do! My father used to welcome all kinds of people to his flock, even going so far as to move us to a new community when I was young in order to help people in even worse trouble than where we started. Well, he didn’t always agree with their choices, but he tried his best to offer forgiveness. Considering how much he had to be given before becoming a preacher, I s’pose I learned that anyone is worthy of that kind of love and care,” Butters rubbed his knuckles together nervously under the intense stare of Mysterion. More silence passed between them, “Sorry if I went a little overboard with that…”

Mysterion shook his head, a soft smile increasing the attractiveness Butters had noticed upon admission the evening before. “Doc, you’re too good for a shitty place like this,” the man commented, lowering himself into the wheelchair that would release him to freedom. Gary arrived with his perpetual jovial attitude, and Butters followed along to make sure the patient was taken care of. The two exchanged glances before Mysterion opened the door to his cab, “See you again next time.”

Butters shook his head with a small grin, “If you think there will be a next time. I’m hoping you can keep yourself from dying for at least a little while. If not, call on me again.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I always make it out alive in the end,” a parting wink was their final goodbye before the cab drove away. 

\--------------------------------

“Well, what did the jew have to say for himself?” Cartman propped his feet up on his desk. His generously sized office in the supply warehouse was upstairs from the main work floor, a large window overlooking operations to ensure productivity. Something about watching others work for his profit soothed Eric everytime he looked down. 

Stan lounged on the office couch, “He’s laying the groundwork on his plan. It will be taken care of like you requested.” Eric listened attentively while Stan described the conversation that occured in their lawyer’s office, a mischievous glint twinkling in his eyes.

“It’s underhanded, low down, back stabbing and genius,” the don chuckled to himself, “Your boyfriend is one shifty shyster.” Stan nodded, knowing this was a compliment coming from their leader. They further exchanged ideas of their own regarding who to include in Kyle’s plans. This would take time to get everything in place, and maybe some collaboration with a few more organizations to cover all the bases. Cartman quietly calculated different scenarios in his head, completely oblivious to the knock at the door. Stan called him out of his trance when the knock sounded again, “Come in already, Jesus Christ!”

Perhaps one of the more important people to include in their plan walked through the door, wavy black locks barely brushing her shoulders. “You called for me?” Wendy held two sets of ledgers in her arms, perfectly polished in business casual. Cartman motioned for her to sit in the plush armchair across from his desk, excusing Stan verbally to resume planning with Kenny when he returned. “If this is about the leak in information affecting profits, I assure you the formen have been working overtime to patch any problems still remaining,” Wendy opened to different pages in the books to review. 

“Glad to hear those lazy bastards are actually following orders,” Cartman overviewed their numbers before continuing, “No, your input is needed on something of greater importance.” Cartman pulled a package of double stuffed oreos from his cabinets behind his desk, offering some to his accountant.

“You know those are my favorites,” Wendy smiled hesitantly, “You trying to bribe me or something?”

“That’s hardly necessary Testaburger, you work for me.” Cartman smirked, “I need to funnel our profits elsewhere for a bit until this all dies down. Malkinson’s candy shop was a decent spot, especially seeing as he couldn’t sample the product without driving his blood sugar through the roof. Now that he ratted us out for a reduced sentence, we need to move materials.” 

Wendy shook her head, “In regards to a new venture that we can give initial funding assistance, I’m not sure of any business that just opened here. Is there anyway to give more to Jimmy as an incentive to attract new customers to his club?” 

Cartman stood up to look out the window while processing the idea. While many of his behaviors could be deemed childish, it was clear to the accountant that he developed a shrewd business sense through his maturing years. There was no denying the man had also grown into his physique as an adult, and Wendy admired his appearance more than she felt comfortable admitting out loud.

“Our other option is to make a ‘charitable donation’ with the money that would have gone to Malkinson, but we would have to be careful who ends up with that honor as to not draw more attention to ourselves,” Wendy looked towards the towering presence after finishing off a handmade quadruple stuffed oreo. 

“I suppose we can allocate more funds to CLASSi’s right now to help with renovations, but keep the donation possibility on the back burner. It may be necessary soon enough,” Cartman vaguely responded. Wendy went to further question his plan, when the don swore loudly, “Mother fucker! What are _they_ doing here?” Wendy rushed to his side, noticing two familiar men talking with Stan at the entrance.

“Gregory?” Wendy questioned in confusion. His slicked back blonde hair remained a similar length as the last time she saw him, but he lost much of the baby fat around his face and midsection. Wendy zoned in on the familiar visitor when he flashed a gold badge to the consigliere.

“Yeah your faggy little boyfriend from back in the day,” Cartman growled, “He’s one of the investigators that got Scott to flip on us for reduced sentencing. Him and that stupid mole. Dammit, let’s get down there.” The two casually made their way down the stairs, pretending to make small talk along the way. 

“Ah, hello Wendy. Odd to find you in a place like...this,” Gregory scoffed as he looked at the two men standing with her, raising her hand to his lips for a kiss, “It’s unfortunate to meet again like this, however I’m hoping you can offer some additional assistance.” Cartman sneered when this gesture garnered a slight red hue across Wendy’s face, and Stan rolled his eyes.

His partner’s thick French accent cut through the pretentious Englishman’s chatter.

“Cut ze small talk bitches, you know why we are ‘ere,” Christophe snapped at Gregory, “Ze owner of ze town’s sweets shop went missing. Any idea where he went?” Christophe held Cartman’s stare, awaiting a response. His dark eyes and shaggy brown hair contrasted the pale sheen of his skin, standing at the same height as his partner. Having to slightly look up to Cartman annoyed the short tempered detective, and his disdain remained apparent despite a challenging glare aimed back at him.

“Christophe may perhaps come off a bit too blunt, and has left out important details of our inquiry at that. This construction company was an usually frequent customer of the shop, so your fellow crewmen should have some kind of connection to the poor fellow yes?” Gregory raised his eyebrows inquisitively. 

“Some of ze patrons at ze coffee shop in town also mentioned it was a popular place with your group. They seemed sure you’d know something of his whereabouts,” Christophe commented.

“How am I supposed to know why these fuckers have a sweet tooth that could break the bank? You can ask around if you want, but I haven’t been by there personally in a few months,” Cartman snapped. This was factual for the boss, having Kenny and the foremen handle dealings with Malkinson at the shop freed up his time to handle negotiating manufacturing pricing with the McCormicks. Stan nodded in agreement while Cartman continued, “I would ask that you stay in the main area though, there’s liability of injury if you go back where the metal and wooden materials are being shifted around. Can’t afford for you boys get to hurt, especially when you’re not even really cops.” The visible reaction this elicited from the two investigators caused pride to swell in Eric’s chest. 

“What he means…” Wendy cut in before more insults landed the don in hot water, “Is that maybe we should continue this conversation at my office. I keep a record of our expenditures, including the budget for Mr. Malkinson’s sweets shop. I am so sorry to hear that he’s missing, but hopefully we can get a date timeline of the last interactions he had.” 

“Most generous of you Wendy. Perhaps the dates noted can give more detail for our investigation,” Gregory sided up closer to her, “The poor soul deserves closure to his case after all.”

“Oh, I agree completely. God knows he was always willing to work with us no matter how many men were on the crews that came in,” Wendy nodded decisively.

“Don’t even mention that faggot’s name!” Christophe began his normal rant about the religious entity, and the twisted sense of irony in the actions people attribute to him. The three walked towards the door, Gregory bidding a smug farewell to the two men left behind.

Stan breathed a sigh of relief once they were out of sight, “I’ll go give Kyle a heads up that they’re more informed than we thought.” Cartman nodded, walking back towards the staircase to his office. 

He suddenly stopped to address Stan solemnly, “Let him know we’ll meet whenever he can set it up. We need to make our move before more information gets out.” Stan nodded, walking to the main office to make his call. 

\----------------------------------

Craig’s irritability at having to be back at CLASSi’s for the second night in a row cost him a pack of cigarettes in a few hours, but taking care of Token’s business was his main focus in life. At least it was a much earlier meeting, with no drunken idiots bum rushing the stage for every performance. The music was less blaring on his eardrums than the prior evening, but maintained a decent volume for those rehearsing their routines. 

“Wuh-well hiya Craig,” Jimmy greeted from behind the bar, “Your boss called a buh-bit ago to let me know about the meeting. I-I-I’ll go get the fellas.” Craig flipped Jimmy off as he walked away, choosing the same bar stool from yesterday to keep an eye on the exits near the stage. He wondered who were the poor bastards the Tweeks suckered into working for their corrupt business. 

The couple were always polite to Craig during his early years of becoming a made man, even when he asked questions about their methods a little too often. When he furthered challenged their way of life during his rise in power, they cut him off from every aspect of their family business. He knew he should’ve been grateful that he never had to interact with their questionable lifestyle again, but mostly felt empty thinking about that part of his life.

“Why hello old chap! Mum and dad didn’t tell us you’d be the one to hear us out. How splendid!” Pip cheerfully greeted Craig across the bar, knocking him off of memory lane with that grating accent. 

“Go to hell Pi…..wait. Wait just a second. You’re the one they sent to discuss the visitors at the coffee shop?” those sick fucks sent their child to do their dirty work. Despite his shock, his blank facial expression never faltered. 

“Well, not just me! But Jimmy had to go backstage to find our other party,” Pip hesitantly commented, watching for signs of distress. The young brit lived with the Tweeks since he was nine years old. He knew all too well his adopted brother had a long standing history with their liaison.

Craig’s mouth dried out, “...Tweek’s here?” 

His ex-boyfriend was part of that cut-off years ago. When Craig attempted to protect their son from the dangers of being force fed the laced coffee, he was pushed out of their lives. He assumed they shipped Tweek far away after convincing him Craig wanted nothing to do with him anymore. 

Craig decided it was best to let Tweek believe that in order to protect him from more harm. Even if the Tweeks weren’t the scum of the earth, earning the title of consigliere put their loved ones in considerable danger. The last Craig heard the twitchy blonde worked at the coffee shop, not being forced to dance for Jimmy’s patrons.

Pip gestured to the stage, “He attracts quite a crowd most nights. Only recently became a part of the schedule, a fews months ago I believe. Our parents….well they’re always pleased by what he brings home. Both our earnings keep the shop fully stocked, and our connection to this place reminds your tailors to keep their deliveries first priority.” 

Craig hadn’t noticed the crescent marks his nails were digging into his palms while Pip talked. This time his anger had nothing to do with annoying accents, instead being fueled by subtle messages relayed through the exhausted tone.

The song playing seemed tame on the bass compared to others he’d heard, but a quick choppy tempo fit perfectly for the sole dancer already moving through the music.

Pip offered a final thought, “He’s actually amazingly talented for someone usually so afraid of the spotlight.” He quietly observed the mafioso entranced with his blonde twin’s adept talent on stage.

_Hello, hello. I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I hope that you’re missin me. Cause it makes me feel young._

_Hello, hello. Last time that I saw your face. Was recess in second grade. And it made me feel young._. 

Tweek pointed his toes when lighting back down to the platform, blonde hair wild and spiked just like Craig remembered. He wore an oversized black button-up shirt, left open to expose black leather straps across his chest with matching shorts revealing long toned legs. Black knee high gladiator type sandals provided flexibility in his feet to keep up with the rhythm guiding his movements, slow and sultry towards the end of the catwalk. 

_Won’t you help me sober up? Growing up, it made me numb. And I wanna feel something again_

“God dammit,” Craig exhaled, watching Tweek manipulatehis body to shape around the varying poles lining the stage. His upper body strength was seriously impressive for someone so lanky, but Craig imagined that came with practice. _Practice_ meant others got to see this confident, cocky side of Tweek when the actual performance came together. Something about that thought brought Craig’s blood to a boil.

_Won’t you help me sober up? All the big kids they are drunk. And I wanna feel something again_

Their eyes met briefly, anxiety clear in facial expression and body language. Tweek’s body began to tremor, both men’s gazes matched despite one being upside down with calves clutching against the silver metal for support. Instead of the freak out episode Craig expected, the performer closed his eyes to focus on the music assaulting his senses. His body kicked into autopilot, clearly finding comfort in the familiar choreography. 

_Won’t you help me feel something again?_

Tweek’s shirt dropped carelessly off his shoulders, bunching up at his elbows when he lowered himself off the last pedestal near the bar. Hands anchored above his head, Tweek rolled his body slowly down the metal rod. He felt concrete beneath his feet, bringing him back to the present moment. 

_Can I finally feel something again?_

Panic returned upon seeing Craig up close. Tweek cautiously made his way behind the bar to join Pip, handing over a roll of cash to his brother for safe keeping. He twitched before speaking to their guest, familiar but foreign feelings returning simultaneously.

“H-hi Craig.”

“Hey Tweek.”

_How’s it go again? ___


	5. Fated Interventions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know this took forever, my apologies once again for dragging ass. I made this chapter extra long to make up for it. Thank you for being as patient as possible, and I am grateful for all the kudos and comments! Just a warning to be safe, there is some descriptive depiction of physical/emotional abuse at the start with severe anxiety and substance withdrawal closer to the end.
> 
> Clearly I went all out on this one. Enjoy!

Tweek Bros Coffee hadn’t changed much, but neither had the old neighborhood around it for that matter. Many wondered how the Tweek family managed to keep the shop open after Harbucks took so much of their business with it’s flashy storefront and flavored coffees. The Tweeks would argue their loyal customers kept them afloat, and the run-down establishment remained a full house consistently over the years.  
  
Pip learned early on the secret family “recipe” his adoptive parents fed the town, a special blend advertised to “boost performance and energy.” Tweek was spoon fed the swill regularly to make sure the beverage could pass for coffee, albeit the taste was described by many as “three-day-old moldy diarrhea.” Pip was unable to stomach the concoction, deemed useless since he just vomited it back up. Despite the sting of being rejected, he was overly grateful to not be dependent on the substance like poor Tweek.  
  
Pip always tried to find a silver lining in things. Impressive considering his parents dying, becoming an orphan, being “adopted” into child slave labor after years of foster shelters, and enduring volatility of the Tweek household. It was no coincidence the Tweeks pulled strings with Jimmy to secure both boys a job at the club, getting them closer to the source of distribution. Not to mention the extra income they brought in provided their parents ample resources to make their purchasing power larger. When Pip and Tweek failed to bring in substantial monetary support they paid a heavy personal price.  
  
_You’re holding out on us, aren’t you?! The both of you want this family to fall apart?! Just remember we own you both. You’d be _ **nothing**_ without us._  
  
Proof of his parents’ displeasure from the night before remained evident on Pip’s face. Their presentation in public as calm and supportive never lasted long behind closed doors. It was draining to constantly be on guard, waiting for the facade to implode into chaos. A hefty coffee mug aimed at Pip was intercepted by his adopted brother, causing bruising and bleeding that would be hard to conceal. A sizeable piece lodged dangerously close to the twitchy blonde’s left eye, their father pressing down hard on the fragment to make sure he was concentrating on their demands. Attempts to relieve the pain only ended with Pip having his airway constricted against the wall and multiple assaults against his cheeks. Pip managed to clean up major injuries once their parents lost interest, profusely apologizing to Tweek for not shielding him from harm. Tweek muttered his own apologies about Pip being forced to live this fate despite no biological connection.  
  
The ding of the welcome bell forced Pip back to reality, “Welcome to Tweek Brothers!” He finished setting out scones and muffins in the display, physically shaking the night from his thoughts. The customer was a familiar male with layered dark locks dressed in black from head to toe, “Oh, good morning Damien! What a lovely surprise!”  
  
Pip remembered the evidence of his parents' rage only after observing Damien silently seething. Despite some initial cruelty during childhood, the famed assassin appointed himself protector of the british boy who suffered horrific traumas. Damien viewed the blonde as a fragile angel among demons, and deemed his role gravely necessary. Based on the picture presented, he felt vindicated in his vigilant nature. Pip feebly attempted to explain the bluish-purple bruising and red handprints wrapping around his slender neck, knowing it wouldn’t appease the merciless mercenary.  
  
“Pip…” Damien’s voice was stern, a hint of concern laced into the utterance. The noirette vividly imagined scenarios that would end this issue, walking behind the counter to further assess hidden damage. Wiping away some of the layers revealed horrific coloring marring Pip’s face. “Why didn’t you pick up the phone, you idiot? Or call when you could?” Damien grumbled through gritted his teeth.  
  
Pip hung his head in shame, “I...I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I couldn’t leave Tweek to face them alone.” Pip purposefully ignored the regularly scheduled safety check-in call from his boyfriend. He allowed Damien to run fingers delicately over red marks across his throat, “Tweek took the brunt of it for me like always.” Visuals of his sibling appearing worse for wear returned to memory, “I made sure to change his bandages before I left this morning.” The dead look in Tweek’s eyes ingrained deeper each time this happened, apparent regardless of the purple bruising under his eye.  
  
Blood boiled as it coursed through Damien, fiery gaze reflecting the hellish heat of his anger. “I’m not taking no for an answer this time Pip,” Damien gingerly grabbed his chin, tipping the blonde to look up at him, “You’re moving out tonight.” This conversation had come up multiple times since Pip would not allow Damien to follow the normal course of action his profession deemed necessary. The only other way to ensure Pip’s safety was moving out to share his apartment.  
  
“And let Tweek get punished for that as well?! Absolutely not Damien! The very thought,” Pip scoffed, “We wouldn’t be alive if we hadn’t protected each other, I won’t just leave him behind.”  
  
Damien fiercely growled, “I’m not asking anymore Phillip! They could have killed you!” His full name meant this was serious, “I’ll move you both if you’ll shut the fuck up about it, but you’re coming home dammit.” Pip felt arms wrap around his person, pulled into a tight embrace despite frustration filling the space between. The two stood completely silent, allowing time to process the urgency expressed in that statement.  
  
“You promise to help us both?” the fearful voice that squeaked out pierced Damien’s hardened heart.  
  
“I’ve never gone back on my word have I?” Damien challenged, feeling the shake of Pip’s head against his shoulder. He huffed, “Well that should settle it. You’re not getting out of this.”  
  
Pip sighed wearily, “Very well, you win love.” Damien smirked, the other male moving out of the embrace to take his place behind the register. “Pocket will have the bar covered this evening, but Tweek has to be there to help get ready around four this afternoon. I’ll ring him up to let him know our arrangement. You plan to be nearby around lunchtime when mum and dad take over,” Pip’s smile reappeared.  
  
Damien nodded, “I have a consultation this morning to deal with, but you know where to find me when it’s time.” Pip waved goodbye to Damien walking towards the door, passing the first of many tweekers that would frequent the shop today.  
  
\---------------------------------------------  
  
Craig strolled towards a towering office building housing their legal counsel. The front desk staff waved at Craig as he went past, not bothering to chastise the man for showing himself in after years of this behavior.  
  
“Hey,” Thomas offered a firm handshake, “Let me finish this up and we’ll talk.” Thomas and Craig stood at a similar well-built 6 foot even, and contasted skin tone from pale white to tan. While Craig maintained short sides and medium length to his noir locks, Thomas kept a high fade to his sides and a slicked back pompadour style on top. Over the years he had become better at controlling the tics through intensive therapy and medicinal marijuana. Every now and then it slipped out much to the blonde’s embarrassment, despite being an adored civil rights advocate for mental health concerns due to his history.  
  
His recent case against Park County Police gained plenty of media attention. A deranged young man wandering his neighborhood while arguing with himself attracted the attention of two nearby patrol officers. Neighbors who testified noted familiarity with the man, and stated he would never bother anyone as he walked and talked to himself. The officers attempted to challenge his delusional ranting, inducing a paranoid panic response when attempts were made to arrest for disturbing the peace. Use of excessive force by the police caused extensive injury, and his condition when arriving to the hospital sparked an investigation.  
  
The reporters questioned Thomas about the prosecutor’s harsh grilling tactic on cross-examination of his client. “I do believe he thought-STUPID SHIT,” he froze, quickly giving an apology, “I’m so sorry. Nerves from the cameras. I do believe he thought he was asking straight questions, but they were leading and potentially could be seen as coercion.” The reporters may have missed the slight blush following that outburst, however his audience caught it immediately.  
  
“If I could call someone a stupid shit on TV, I’d be soooo happy,” a nasally laugh sounded out.  
  
Thomas smiled appreciatively at his childhood friend attempting to cheer him up. Craig always had a way of saying the exact inappropriate thing to make Thomas feel like he was normal. His blunt honesty never ceased to surprise, “Only you could make my outburst sound like some kind of triumph.” Thomas clicked off the TV to turn his full attention to the matter at hand, “So...from what I gather distribution has suffered lately. Some of my clients frequent Black Hand Tailor Shop for their needs, and they’ve voiced difficulty getting attention from your tailors.”  
  
“Fosse and Bill really screwed us over. Assholes. They’ve been _relocated_ to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Craig scowled.  
  
“Sounds like new tailors are needed,” Thomas ruffled through some papers, “You’ve got two that are technically up for early release in the next month. Perhaps we can see about pushing that closer for Firkle and Filmore?”  
  
“It’s like you can read minds or something,” Craig nodded, “The boss wants it to be sooner rather than later.” He began to massage his temple, “The Tweeks have been up our assess about this whole thing, especially with the narcs questioning their patrons.”  
  
“I suppose that’s a slight reason to voice concern, but something tells me there’s more to this story,” Thomas quirked an eyebrow. Craig maintained his neutral expression, but his relaxed shoulders shifted into a rigid state.  
  
“They demanded a meeting to discuss conversations overheard from police patronage,” Craig rolled his eyes.  
  
“They’re actually speaking to you?” Thomas questioned out of shock.  
  
“They had me meet their kids at CLASSi’s, you know, neutral ground and all that bullshit.” Craig waited for pieces to fall into place.  
  
“You saw him?” Thomas’s eyes widened. Craig’s silence was confirmation enough, “Well-SHIT….what happened?”  
  
“We came to an agreement that product distribution would be rearranged to take implication of delivery off of the shop itself,” Craig wasn’t going there without serious prompting, “Which is why we need more trusted tailors to..”  
  
“Seriously Craig? You’re really going to make me ask it aren’t you?” Thomas disrupted discussion despite the middle finger aimed at him, “Of course you are, because you haven’t talked about him or what happened since you let his - COCK - parents determine your future without him.” Craig was not ready to reflect on all of this, but Thomas clearly wasn’t surrendering.  
  
“Fine, fuck! Yeah I saw Tweek. He’s being forced to dance at Jimmy’s place to pay for his parents’ _needs_ ,” Craig narrowed his eyes, “Pip too, he’s working behind the bar. It’s fucking disgusting they would treat their own children that way, but why did that surprise me?! It’s not like they ever gave a damn in the first place!”  
  
Thomas stopped immediately, afraid boundaries were pushed farther than necessary.  
  
Craig quelled his temper, “God dammit, now you made me lose control of my emotions.”  
  
“I guess seeing Tweek working a pole for other’s ‘attentions’ made you pull your head out your ass and actually deal with this?” Thomas figured straightforward observations were best, “Do you think he would’ve been protected from their greed if you hadn’t walked away? Or something like that?”  
  
“I don’t fucking know,” Craig ran his hands over his face in frustration. In reality, Thomas nailed it but that meant admitting a lot of things. Admitting he was jealous of patrons at CLASSi’s. Admitting despite best intentions to keep Tweek safe from his lifestyle, he left him in worse hands. Admitting his mistake of not fighting like hell when someone else's paranoia tore him away from his soulmate. Admitting he abandoned the person he loved and who unconditionally loved him in return since childhood.  
  
That last one hurt like hell.  
  
“I’ll drop it for now, but something tells me I’m right,” Thomas shrugged, “I’ll get to work on parole board hearings for our two boys. When I have something solid you can report to your boss I'll call.” Craig hummed in acknowledgment, thankful for distraction from his thoughts.  
  
\---------------------------------------------  
  
“Jimmy, I’m thinking the white lighting needs to focus on the center of the walk and red lighting for the pedestals,” Bebe rested her hands on cocked hips, “Can we try it to see?”  
  
“You heard the lady Tim-tim, give me a switch on the presets,” Jimmy called to the booth nearby.  
  
“TIMMY!” their DJ sounded off, changing controls on the console.  
  
Bebe clasped her hands, “I think that’s much better! Right Stripe?”  
  
Tweek shrugged dismissively, “Sure Sparkle, whatever you say.” He wandered back to their dressing room, giving his partner creative license to do whatever. As if he actually gave a shit.  
  
Tweek could hear Bebe making her way backstage, “If you don’t like the colors say something!” He knew she was masking concern about his emotional well-being, but feelings were not on his evening agenda.  
  
“Whatever you want tonight is fine, I promise,” He forced a smile in Bebe’s direction, “You should be asking David and Heidi since their set follows ours.”  
  
“You mean Señor and Sunshine, right Stripe?” Bebe grinned mischievously. Continuing to purposely use their nicknames was a gamble with everything going on for Tweek, but any reaction was better than letting her co-worker stew until he exploded.  
  
Tweek groaned, “Jesus Christ, can we please drop that shit when we’re not performing?!”  
  
Bebe laughed, “Now Stripe, you know it’s for our own protection. After all we can’t have a bunch of pervy bastards trying to follow us in real life right?”  
  
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Tweek didn’t think his cornea could disappear any further under his eyelids. Irritability levels seemed to be increasing since dealing with his parents’, and he desperately did not want to take it out on Bebe. He assessed his appearance, trying to cover the forming scab under his eye. Constant twitching did not allow for even application of make-up, eliciting a growl of frustration towards his mirrored reflection, “Too much pressure...Agh!”  
  
Bebe moved to assist, “Here dear, let me help out please?” Gently wrapping her hands around the brush in his grip, Bebe took to evening layers already applied.  
  
“Th..thanks,” Tweek sighed. He tried to go to his peaceful place, but racing thoughts kept pulling him back. Muscles in the dark circles under his eyes spasmed randomly, hysteria creeping out of the woodworks housing his darkest fears.  
  
Despondent. Bebe felt this and more when she witnessed her friend’s slip into the wretched trap of his anxious mind. She hesitated to use the eyeshadow brush while he was teetering on edge, but it had to be done. “Tweek honey…” she attempted to address him.  
  
Tweek’s shoulder involuntarily jerked, fingers grasping to pull at his collar instead of ripping out hair. Bebe turned her attention to the clammy feel of his skin, and noticed sweat drops on his temple. “When was your last cup Tweek?” Bebe cautiously applied mascara.  
  
His parents withheld all coffee from him after their altercation, punishment for "holding out financially." “Yes...ack!...Yesterday morning,” Tweek shuddered.  
  
Bebe loathed feeding this addiction Tweek didn’t deserve, but she knew there could be major medical consequences if he wasn’t given another dose. “I don’t know if I can get to your parents shop and back in time…” she put two fingers to his throat looking for a pulse.  
  
“Pip...agh!...usually keeps some in my thermos behind the bar,” he blurted out. Bebe nodded, disappearing through the curtain on a mission for the plain silver mug. Shivers ran up his spine despite the muggy heat, and the erratic pace of his heartbeat was frightening. The various perfume and hairspray scents turning his stomach, almost to the point of expelling whatever was left in his system. His senses picked up the familiar smell of espresso, and he shot forward to snatch the container from Bebe’s hand.  
  
“Ah, Tweek! Take it easy,” she sighed, “Hopefully you’ll feel better within a bit.” The two blondes sat at their respective stations, allowing Tweek ample time to calm his nerves.  
  
Any liquid contained in the thermos was depleted within seconds. “Th...thanks...thanks Bebe,” he stuttered out in an attempt to convey his heartfelt gratitude for her assistance, “At least you care about me…” He trailed off after wetness pooled in his bottom lids, afraid to continue that sentence while his mental state was in flux.  
  
“Tweek,” Bebe grabbed a comb before settling down behind him, “I can cover the scabs and ease the twitches physically, but I can’t do anything with the emotional damage until we talk about it.”  
  
Withdrawal symptoms visibly subsided, giving Tweek peace from the perpetual tics. “Pip wants me to move out with him,” Tweek fully inflated his lungs for what felt like the first time that evening, “Says Damien will let us stay there to protect us. I guess it has been getting worse lately, but it still seems strange to live as a third wheel.”  
  
Bebe hugged her companion around his shoulders to offer comfort. “You know you’re always welcome to come stay in my extra room,” she smiled softly, “I could use some help with rent since nursing school is cutting into my work hours. Nothing big or anything, whatever you can manage.”  
  
Tweek gripped her wrists, refusing to make eye contact. “I’ll just be a burden like I was to….” he trailed off.  
  
“You helping with rent makes you the furthest thing from a burden,” she encouraged over his quiet sobs.  
  
Tweek’s watery gaze finally rose, “I suppose if you need some help, it couldn’t hurt to give it a try.” Bebe resumed fixing up his face, waiting patiently for more to spill out.  
  
It didn’t take long.  
  
His timid voice broke the silence, “Craig said he’d be back soon to update us. I don’t think.....I can’t face..…what if...” Bebe encouraged him to take deeper breaths than the shallow pants following each unfinished phrase. He inhaled through his nose, “It was agonizing to sit across from him, having him judge me for being in a place like this.” He gave a shaky exhale, but was able to substantially slow his breathing.  
  
Bebe cut in, “I doubt he was judging you. But if he was, he needs to come look in this mirror at his own damn self.” She walked to her vanity, “Tweek, you need to talk to Craig without family business as your focus. If nothing else happens, get some closure for those “what-if” questions you’ve been asking for years.”  
  
Tweek reflected on her feedback, his mind steadier from even breathing and reintroduction of laced coffee into his system. This repose gave way to comfortable stillness, Tweek’s focus on his complicated clothing ensemble. He slipped into his gladiator sandals, starting the lengthy lacing process before addressing this situation again. “I don’t know what would help at this point, but I guess it can’t get much worse than feeling like a vital organ is leisurely being ripped out,” a gruesome albeit thoughtful reflection on his part.  
  
“That’s the spirit! I think?” Bebe chuckled, “Now come on Stripe, we have an audience anxiously awaiting our arrival.”  
  
“I swear to God Bebe,” Tweek groused.  
  
\---------------------------------------------  
  
Punctuality was not something Stanley Marsh made a priority, and Kyle was well aware of this ever since childhood. While normally just mildly irritating, he stressed the importance to his partner about being on time for dinner or “So help me Jehovah, I’ll cut you off for at least a week.” Kyle turned to the door as it creaked open, huffing at the sight before him.  
  
“Welcome to Buca di Faggoncini, your usual booth Mr. Cartman?” the Maitre D’ immediately greeted their esteemed guest. Stan, Kenny, and Cartman made their way towards dining room, stopping at the host’s stand. Kyle made eye contact with Stan, and gestured towards an isolated door away from other booths. Stan nodded subtly, watching slicked back red curls blur while Kyle disappeared to make final arrangements.  
  
“Not tonight,” Cartman countered, “We’re having a sit-down, a nice dinner, and I believe our associates reserved a table in the back for the occasion.” The young man nodded, adjusting his route to the identified spot. “Make sure our guests find their way back here, yeah?” Cartman slipped him a sizeable tip with a pat to the face, receiving an enthusiastic nod before the host disappeared again.  
  
“You’re late,” Kyle snapped at Stan quietly while Cartman paid the headwaiter.  
  
“Nice to see you too babe,” Stan folded his arms across his chest defensively, “You know how the boss is about showing off every time we do this.” Kyle and Kenny greeted each other, Cartman making his way to the head of the rectangular table. Stan and Kenny took their seats to his right and left respectively.  
  
“Well, where’s this friend of yours?” Cartman questioned looking to three empty chairs, “Is he actually coming to the table so we can straighten everything out?”  
  
Kyle prickled at his accusation, “He’ll be here shortly. It was a long trip from New York.” He took a seat next to Stan leaving the chair across from Eric vacant.  
  
“I’m baa-ack!” a familiar voice wheezed as it assaulted mobsters already present. Kyle stood to greet his maternal cousin, “Oh Kyle, the trip was terrible. I swore the stewardess walking through cabin was going to give the whole group tuberculosis or something with that horrid cough. Just terrible, right Isaiah?” The muscle behind him simply nodded, humming in agreement while keeping eyes on all parties present.  
  
“It’s...uh...good to see you too cousin,” the two Kyles shook hands in greeting before initiating an uncomfortable embrace.  
  
“Ah! Not so tight Kyle, you see I have this very large blister on my shoulder...,” he continued to whine, his greased curls slightly bushy despite the tan fedora atop his head. He pushed his browline glasses up on his nose while walking towards his fellow Don, “Oh Eric how very nice we could meet. I’m happy to see they haven’t iced you yet.”  
  
Several anti-semitic comebacks were on the tip of Cartman’s tongue, but he managed to hold it together. The head of the Jewish mob was his best chance for getting the heat off his organization. He stiffly responded while holding out his hand, “Good to see you as well Kyle. I must say, the family resemblance between you two is just amazing Kahl.” He could see fire light in those green eyes, fury restrained but still evident for Cartman’s amusement.  
  
Kyle settled into his seat next to his cousin, trying to ignore his heavy mouth breathing. He suppressed an exasperated groan, gripping Stan’s hand in frustration under the table. Their servers took orders, and Kyle overheard his relative pull one waitress aside to ask multiple questions about the food. _You see I can’t really have red meat, my stomach doesn’t handle it well. Not to mention the bacteria that grows on beef in such dry conditions, it’s just terrible. Oh, some grilled whitefish would be great if it’s not too much trouble?_  
  
Staff here knew that nothing was too much trouble for this group, and service was quick but efficient. Once the room was only intended members, Cartman cleared his throat to gain attention. “I think you’re aware of the feds cracking down on our businesses, so I’ll cut right to the point,” the two godfather’s nodded in understanding, “We need assistance in turning the tables back on these _investigators._ ” Disdain dripping from that last word was unmistakable.  
  
“Eric, I understand what you’re saying, really I do,” Kyle maintained eye-contact, “How-However I don’t know what exactly our group could do to help this situation?” While he appeared sickly and cowardly to the outside world, his men knew the real Kyle Schwartz. The Don was shrewd, calculating, and cold-blooded when it came to the family business, and no favor was granted without identified rewards. “I mean, New York is a good distance from this mountain town so my connections here are limited. I don’t see what you expect from me during the brief time I’m around?” Kyle rested his chin on his knuckles with an inquisitive expression.  
  
Eric motioned for Stan to continue, leaning over to converse with Kenny in hushed tones. “Your cousin has been helping document cases involving dirty cops, and he’s compiled the list for our area,” Stan watched the two Kyles look over documents from the law firm, “We’re hoping to make these stories more public, help people become aware of the epidemic spreading across our country. Hold the feds accountable for their people’s behaviors you know?”  
  
“Our best enforcer here knows his contract,” Cartman rolled his eyes, “Some journalist helping the investigators stay on our tail. Just a bleeding heart fucker with an agenda apparently.” The room fell silent when plates were delivered to the table, Kenny immediately dug in to his dish.  
  
“Mmphm, mmmphm mmm mphm mphm mmm,” Kenny attempted to boast with his mouthful.  
  
Stan snickered, “Mysterion hasn’t missed a mark yet, so they better pray that’s the only place he bleeds from.” His boyfriend tightened his upper lip at their immaturity, but remained attentive to the conversation at hand.  
  
“Since the Jews control all media,” Eric stated, his hypothesis proven factual during this partnership, “I was hoping you could send someone to our news station that would make sure the injustices these pigs are causing with their greed and addiction get broadcast across the states.” Cartman could see wheels turning across the table, whispered remarks exchanged amongst their family. “I know Broflovski has vehemently denied your powerful influence in the past,” He received a sharp glare from their hard on with a suitcase, “But it will serve us both to have those stupid feds on the defensive.”  
  
Kyle wheezed while he scanned the list of cases, “Who is Thomas Touret? He’s listed as the victims’ attorney on most of these.”  
  
Cartman shrugged when the other Kyle spoke up, “He’s a civil rights attorney, and a damn good one at that. Word throughout the underground is he serves as counsel for Token and the Black Hand Tailor Shops.”  
  
“Who is this you’re speaking of now?” Kyle questioned his right hand.  
  
Stan stepped up, “He’s boss of another outfit here in town. Probably had Craig talk the Touret guy into dealing with their messes. They were friends when we were growing up I think.”  
  
“I see...hmm,” the brunette nodded, “I would imagine this Token fellow is getting similar interest from our pesky investigators as well? Perhaps his assistance with this would be warranted.”  
  
“Oh hell no!” Cartman barked, “He’s a black asshole, and I don’t see how he could do anything to help us!” Stan and Kyle exchanged knowing looks, having spent a decent amount of time with one of New York’s most powerful men. This partnership with Token and his tailors would be happening if media arrangements were to be made by the finest descendent of Murder Inc.'s founders.  
  
“I..I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” Kyle’s tone dropped an octave, “His assistance will be needed, and he will be invited to collaborate. Otherwise this conversation ends once our desert arrives.” Sparks flew across the table, power struggles were inevitable with two figureheads representing their own interests. Neither appeared willing to back down, but Kyle held the upper hand with his resources.  
  
“God dammit, alright! I’ll see what we can do,” Eric threw his hands up in surrender for now, “But don’t expect he’ll do this for nothing.” Dessert arrived to end the evening, everyone awaiting final thoughts from the other side of the table.  
  
“We’ll just have to make him an offer he can’t refuse,” Kyle’s lenses reflected shades of red, grinned over his flaming bananas foster.


	6. Dye It Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the newest chapter has finally made it's appearance. I promise this hasn't died, I'm just slow on the rebound. Started a new job, and it's been an adventure finding time for everything. Enjoy, and expect the next chapter to be hopefully posted within the next few weeks!

Every detective dreams of that one case. An investigation so intricately planned out it permanently seals their place in the record books. A huge bust with multiple arrests that takes down an entire crime syndicate. No fuck-ups that ruin the court case, smooth sentencing, and maybe a promotion to sweeten the deal. 

Well...not _every_ detective apparently. Gregory managed to find the one partner who could give a shit less. He did not come all the way from training at Scotland Yard to miss his opportunity to make a mark on history. Some indifferent Frenchman be damned. 

“You really think these two will know anything,” Christophe exhaled a large puff of smoke, “You know zey probably ‘ave been kept in ze dark by family.” He dropped the cigarette butt, mashing it under his foot.

“My dear Mole, it will be the information they do not know about their relatives that will be most telling,” Gregory argued. Muted mumbling followed behind the blonde when they walked into the lobby of their destination. 

A lone brunette with wavy tresses and soul-penetrating hazel eyes greeted them, “Good morning sirs. Did you have an appointment?” 

Christophe flashed his badge in annoyance, “Not necessary for ze information we need. Perhaps both of ze brothers are around to participate in this discussion?” Gregory scoffed at Christophe’s indignant presentation.

She looked between the two men, expression mixed between curiosity and confusion, “Ah, okay. Could I have your names perhaps?”

While maintaining his vexed expression outwardly, Gregory gloated seeing his partner slightly cringe at his faux pas. “Name is Christophe, and zis is my fellow detective Gregory,” He calmed his tone as he continued, “And who are you?”

“Karen McCormick. Kyle is in court all day today, but Ike should be in his office. Just a moment detectives,” Karen smiled brightly before walking to disappear down the side hallway.

“Must you always be so crude in presentation? It makes both of us look foolish, you know,” Gregory sniped, “Perhaps it would do you some good to step back and allow me to take it from here, hmmm?” 

Christopher gestured his arm out with an open palm, “If you think you can do zis better, by all fucking means, go ahead.”

“Why thank you I will,” Gregory ignored the smart ass undertone from his comment. Their partnership was complicated, but they were the only two who could stand working with each other. “This must be the sister we overheard the men at the construction site discussing. Kenny McCormick, right hand cronie to that brute Eric Cartman, seems to keep his work life separate from her,” Gregory pontificated while awaiting the others, “Ike is the other partner for this firm, I wonder how much he knows about his brother’s practice and clientele types?”

“Zey appear to keep offices on separate sides of ze building. I would guess Kyle might try to keep his brother from seeing ze ugly truth, no?” Christophe leaned to peer down the corridor. 

“Excellent observation, and not a horrid assumption at that,” Gregory hummed in agreement. Footsteps echoed off the hardwood floor, both men turned to the approaching sound. 

“Mister Broflovski is able to meet with you two briefly,” Karen informed them, and introduced each detective to her boss.

“Hello friends,” one broad towering figure with a dark tuft of hair greeted them with a firm handshake, “Ike Broflovski, what can I do for you buddy?”

The Canadian accent took the officers by surprise, Christophe warily sizing up the lawyer. Gregory nudged him sharply to quit staring, clearing his throat insistently.

“Karen here tells me you have some questions about our firm yeah?” Ike spoke up again, attempting to move the conversation along.

“Ah yes,” Gregory flashed his pearly white smile, “My partner and I have been investigating some cold cases for Park County Police. Many of them involved your brother as defense counsel for accused individuals. I am fully aware you two cannot share any communication had with clients, however I was hoping to gain insight into other avenues we should be exploring that he may have found trying to prove their innocence.”

“I could certainly try to recall some information for you friends, but there are particular clients Kyle insists on handling personally,” Ike shrugged.

“These cases seem to have a Cartmanez Construction Company as the defendant, or rather employees of that corporation who seemed to get mixed up in some sticky situations,” Gregory read the list aloud from a small notepad he kept in his shirt pocket, “Extortion, intimidation of witnesses, possession with intent to distribute, just to name a few.” 

“Well guy, you just happened to name a client my brother deals with himself,” Ike informed the men, “I’ve gone to sentencing hearings for some of the crew members convicted, but their consultation and court proceedings always get my brother’s immediate attention.”

“Perhaps there is a reason he keeps you away from zese cases hmm?” Christophe questioned.

“Kyle’s influence over assignments does seem arbitrary at times, but he usually takes them to keep room on my docket for a variety of domestic and foreign cases. As well as other reasons,” Ike countered.

“Does he doubt you can handle ze pressure, or is zere something else going on?” Gregory observed closely while his partner searched for a weak point.

Karen giggled softly while a Cheshire Cat grin split Ike’s face. Karen cut into the conversation, “I’ll take it from here Ike. God knows you’ll be too candid about all this.”

“Fuck god and just tell me what is so fucking funny,” Christophe growled in annoyance. Karen and Ike faltered, shocked at his sudden eruption. 

“Christophe, perhaps you should go check the parking meter,” Gregory saw this coming, knowing continued interaction would lead nowhere, “Please forgive my partner, he has a bit of a short fuse. Ms. McCormick if you would indulge me as to this reasoning you know of?” 

“Well…” Karen hesitated, awaiting Christophe’s departure. “Aside from Kyle being close friends with my big brother Kenny, the Head Foreman in charge,” pride lit the girl’s eyes at that statement, “Kyle’s fiancé Stanley happens to be a consultant for the company as well.”

“Oh ho,” Gregory mentally recalled the consigliere he met at the warehouse. This must have been how such a small firm made its name well-known early on, gaining access to high profile cases where the peons below take the fall for their higher-ups. A sad commentary on the social system in general, but especially in this context of crime famiglias. “ _Speaking of family connections…_ ” Gregory formulated his next angle.

“As Karen said, Kyle is particularly attached to the legal liaison for Cartmanez Construction,” Ike snickered thinking about his love-struck brother. The redhead pined after his super best friend all through high school, staking his claim the moment Wendy and Stan called it quits permanently after graduation. Ike continued, “Kenny also keeps a close working relationship with Kyle as well, knowing construction workers aren’t always the most reputable characters.”

There was his in, “Funny you should say that, because Mr. McCormick is listed on some of these cases as the accused guilty party. Most of the charges are listed as assault with a deadly weapon. Have you noticed any injuries or wounds on your brother lately?” Karen’s face dropped, sickly sweet satisfaction of catching her off guard filling Gregory with glee. 

Karen’s face twisted into an inquisitive look, “I mean...Kenny has always been accident prone so I’ve never taken much notice. He was severely injured several different times in high school, but he always came out fine at the end of the day. Same thing with his current job. We don’t talk much about his work though, he says he doesn’t like to rehash those things when we spend time together….” Gregory nodded, encouraging her to continue voicing her thoughts. “He does disappear for days at a time...I’ve asked Stanley before if he knows anything. Most of the time he brushes me off...or tells me Kenny’s at a job site out of town,” forlorn features shadowed Karen’s countenance. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Just trying to find new avenues to explore since most of these cases ended with acquittal or plea bargains. Doesn’t give much to go off of as you can imagine,” Gregory gently reassured her, hoping this would lead to discord they could use to their advantage. 

“Well buddy, if there’s nothing else we can help you with, I have an appointment that should be arriving soon,” Ike glanced worriedly at his secretary, noticing the somber aura starkly contrasting her bright personality. He looked out the front windows, tilting his head towards the exit, “I would also recommend checking on your partner out there guy. He doesn’t seem particularly fond of the neighborhood mutt, Rex.”

Gregory whipped around to find Christophe running by the window, followed by a fluffy blur of brown and black fur. “Oh heavens. Thank you both for your time truly. Please give my regards to Kyle when he returns, and here’s my card if you have any further information,” Gregory left it on Karen’s desk, briskly hurrying to deal with the cynophobic male. 

\------------------------------------------

“I’m telling ya Token, it’s gonna be one hell of a party,” Clyde’s teeth chattered, feet moving at a brisk pace towards the deli nearby. Frigid winter winds razed the brunette's rosy cheeks, “I still think you should let me go all out with the entertainment. Maybe a trip to Vegas? At the very least bringing in more… _variety_ to spice things up.” Clyde sighed in relief once they entered the heated building, quickly surveying the patrons and staff inside. 

Token rolled his eyes after removing his scarf, “You can bring that up to the Head Seamstress if you really want to argue for more strippers. I’m not opening up that can of worms.” Clyde shuddered fearfully, Token chuckling at his immediate negative reaction. They were greeted by the owner to take their lunch orders. Special treatment for the esteemed regulars. “Nichole gave you your marching orders for my bachelor party, I suggest you stick to the plan at CLASSi’s and be grateful for that much,” the two nodded in agreement after paying for their orders

“What’s this about Nichole and being grateful?” Bebe’s blonde corkscrew curls came into view with Nichole following close behind, “I mean Token should definitely be grateful for staking claim to such a fox, but he’s a little late to the party if he’s just now realizing this.” Clyde picked up the tab for their lunch guests, Bebe planting a kiss to his cheek in thanks. The four found a corner booth far from the counter, settling into polite small talk.

“So I ran into Tweek in the kitchen this morning when I was getting up to make us coffee. I miss something?” Clyde looked to Bebe curiously.

“I told you about this days ago. How are you so forgetful about these things? You better have had boxers on at the least! Poor Tweek doesn’t need anymore traumatic exposure,” Bebe sighed in exasperation. 

The accused held his hands up defensively, “Hey now, no need to throw jabs! It’s not like Tweek doesn’t know what a dude’s dick looks like babe.” Their order numbers were called just in time for Token to walk away from the awkward exchange. Clyde continued, “Besides, it was good to see him. Just couldn’t figure out why he was putting away groceries at 6AM.”

“I’m so glad he agreed to come stay with you. It was stressful just hearing what’s been happening. I don't want to imagine how it’s been living there,” Nichole was hoping he would accept Bebe’s invitation given their conversations about the Tweak family situation. 

Bebe nodded excitedly, “I’m so relieved he decided to stay. He’s been looking worse and worse over the past month. I know Pip voiced concerns for their safety, especially with Tweek being his parents’ guinea pig.” Token returned with their food right in time to hear Bebe biggest concern, “Richard’s been acting horrid towards his sons, and I was scared both of them would end up in the hospital or worse. Pip’s staying with Damien at their apartment. Tweek felt awkward being a third wheel so he’s living with me to help with the rent.”

Clyde frowned, “You know you can ask me to pay more of the rent if you need it, I don’t want my girl struggling.” Bebe giggled at his easily bruised male ego when he scowled, “And if it’s that sleazy office manager again, I’ll make sure he understands extra _favors_ aren’t a part of the rental contract.”

Token cut into the conversation, “Tweek and Pip are still working at the coffee shop I’m assuming? Free child labor is not something Richard Tweek will let go of easily.” Nichole and Token exchanged a knowing look, awaiting a response regarding the business in question.

Bebe rolled her eyes in disgust, “You’re right about that. They alternate the morning shift to open the shop until their parents decide to come rolling in whenever. Then Tweek gets to CLASSi’s to get ready for our routine, and Pip gets behind the bar.” 

“Wait, wait...Tweek is dancing? As in, on the pole for creepy perverts to oogle all night type dancing?” shock evident on Nichole’s face. She turned to her partner to see the lack of surprise in his hardened stare. “You already knew?! And you sent Craig to deal with that situation of all people,” Token cut his glare towards Nichole to focus on the topic at hand. 

“Clyde was the only one who knew prior to Craig handling the Tweaks, and he failed to share this important information when it was needed most,” Clyde rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly at Token’s scolding tone, “Like it or not, Craig will be the one to make our request to Tweek as well since he started this assignment.” Nichole vehemently protested the idea, Clyde and Bebe thrown off by the hushed bickering across from them.

“Not to be pushy or anything but if I knew what the request was I could try to handle it,” Clyde quirked an eyebrow when Token shook his head in disagreement, “What’s going on?”

Token dropped his volume and leaned closer to his underboss, “Nichole received visits from the investigators a few days ago regarding our business practices. They seem to have a better picture of our outfit than we originally thought.”

“We were thinking a charitable donation to the police force might make a good impression, and our best bet would be a donation of assorted flavored coffees to the investigators’ office.” Nichole picked up where he left off. 

“Craig was always better at keeping Tweek calm and convinced that things wouldn’t fall apart, so hopefully we’ll get the Tweak family to join the effort as well,” Token’s decisive tone meant no negotiating this. 

“Boss you do realize the reason why our friend was good at that right?” both men were aware of the consigliere’s romantic history, “This could backfire if you’re not careful, or I guess if Craig isn’t careful really.”

Bebe chimed in suddenly, “I think it’s a great idea. Those two need a chance to talk, and this is about the best opportunity they’re going to get without Tweek running screaming in the opposite direction.” 

Nichole sighed, “Fine. We definitely need to do something about the detectives’ suspicions regarding our business practices. Even Eric Cartman has reached out to Token about their questioning of family and friends.” 

Token picked-up from there, “That reminds me, Clyde I’m going to need you and Craig to join me for a lunch meeting later this week. Nichole insisted on going with me, but I’m not sure how noble the intentions are behind this invitation so I’m not risking her safety.” Nichole nodded in reluctant agreement with Token, “Also I want you to make sure Filmore and Firkle get situated with Kevin at CLASSi’s once their parole hearing is over. They should be released within the next few days, and I want them back to work shortly after.”

Clyde verbalized his understanding, nudging Bebe to get ready to head out. Token and Nichole cleared the table, giving the other two time to get to the girls’ car and start the heater. “Bebe I’m serious. I don’t mind Tweek staying with you for his safety, but you know you can ask me for anything if you need it. I’m more than just a connection to cute shoes you know?” Clyde winked while opening her car door.

Infectious giggling preceded a barrage of kisses, “Thank you for the support and shoes. I’m lucky you give both so willingly. But Tweek insisted on contributing, and I wanted him somewhere safe. You make sure Craig shows up at the coffeeshop, and I’ll make sure you know when we’re struggling.” Nichole approached to get into the passenger side of the car when Token opened the door, all four hurriedly setting off towards warmer destinations than the snowy parking lot. 

\------------------------------------------

“Stan, I don’t have time for this,” Wendy huffed, “If your organization needs something so desperately, why isn’t your boss here to discuss it?” She swiftly moved through the offices at her firm, signing off on paperwork and answering various questions. She engaged with her secretary in the front lobby, “Annie, I’ll be meeting with a client so please hold all my calls unless it’s urgent.”

“Of course Wendy. Hi Stan,” Annie smiled politely.

Stan trailed behind after greeting Annie, choosing not to speak about the matter until in private quarters. Despite South Park gossip about their “devastating” break-up, the two remained close friends following their elementary school sweetheart days. “Wends, I know you think he’s just out to make your life miserable. I think we all do nowadays,” Stan dropped a white envelope in front of her, “but I promise this would be important enough for him to be here if emergencies didn’t keep sprouting up overnight.”

Wendy waved him off, dismissive of any excuses used to pardon Cartman’s behaviors. That much had not changed since grade school, and it was doubtful that would alter course anytime soon. It was disgusting to see such blatant disregard for human life during their formative years, and now he’d risen to the highest position of power with that same mindset. 

Not that she felt any better feeding these behaviors enabling him financially. Despite mutual respect they built for each other working together, there were still moments where she despised everything he stood for. “If what he wants is this much moved, it’ll take a lot of work to make it fly under the radar,” numbers scrawled across Wendy’s desk pad while she read the letter.

“You read the note, you know what he’s asking for,” he pointed to the bottom of the page. Eric was sure she would do whatever he demanded, but most recalled that Wendy beat his ass prior to becoming head of their crime family. She could do it again if it became necessary.

“I see where he wants the cover money to be donated to a construction injury charity he has access to, but I don’t think it’s such an ingenious idea like he claims,” Wendy folded the note, sliding it across polished cherrywood, “He’ll set us up for exposure getting involved in union business this blatantly. We need to proceed with more caution since there’s additional pressure from investigation.”

Stan hesitantly picked it up, “So does this mean you’ll handle it, or….?”

“No,” Wendy rebuffed.

Although taken aback by her flagrant disregard of potential consequences, he wasn’t sure that pushing further would change the answer. Cartman sent him with a back-up plan should, _”Wendy get up on her fucking high horse about this.”_ It was unexpected that reaction occurred this quickly, but he knew she could be particularly tenacious when passionately dedicated. He presented a larger manilla envelope for Wendy to review final orders and offers. 

Her face screwed up in a mixture of confusion and disgust leafing through the papers. “What the hell is this?” she waved the packet at him, “Is Eric trying to bribe me or something asinine like that?”

“Something like that yeah,” he waited.

“Does he pull shit like this with your fiancé?” another sharp hiss.

“Usually worse. Kyle’s learned to take it in stride, and take out his frustrations in a much more beneficial and _productive_ way,” Stan gave a dramatic wink, smirking as Wendy avoided laughing at his antics. 

“The answer is still no Stanley,” Wendy dropped the stack of papers before him. Despite Stan attempting to soften the blow, insulted was the mildest feeling she could use to pinpoint emotions she felt brewing.

“Well then what do you propose we do? We both know he’ll bully anyone who stands in the way of getting what he wants,” Stan irritably challenged. He was **not** going back to the boss empty handed.

“We make a generous charitable donation to the people directly involved in this whole mess,” Wendy pushed over the scratch paper where she’d been jotting figures. Stan looked over profits that would get handed over to mask operations. 

Stan incredulously spluttered, “You...you want to donate that money to the investigator’s task force fund?! You want to give it away to those pompous ass hats getting cocky about their dealings with us? We both know the answer he’ll give you without a second thought.” 

“Then he’s an idiot if he does. If he has any common sense left, he’ll understand it once you give him this,” Wendy finished her calculations and notations, sealing them in an envelope, “Call me when he decides I was right, and I’ll get the donation scheduled.”

Stan froze, mouth gaping open and shut as if he couldn’t determine where to start pointing out the dangers of playing this game. Annie’s voice cut the silence over the office speakerphone, “Wendy, you have an urgent delivery up here. Can I send him back to you?” 

Wendy rolled her eyes, “Everything’s urgent I suppose. Alright show him to my office.” She waited for Stan to voice further push back against her, only to watch him resemble a confused guppy in a new fish tank. “Stan we both know I can handle my own with Eric. You give him that letter, tell him exactly my concerns, and let me deal with the rest. Fair enough?” Wendy firmly ended the argument.

He closed his mouth, the line firmly set in concern, “Fine Wendy. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt here. But I still don’t like this.” They shook hands as a peace offering, both moving towards the door for Stan to leave. Before they reached the handle, Annie appeared in the door opening with a new face beside her.

“Delivery for Ms. Wendy Testaberger,” the delivery boy presented a large vase of snapdragons and amaryllis blooms, “and a card to go with it. Have a nice day!” He scurried off down the hallway, on to his next customer most likely. Wendy tore open the card, and smiled gently at the short message included. 

Stan stared down at the blooms she placed on her desk, “You got a secret admirer or something?” He peered over her shoulder subtly to see the note, _”Complex flowers for a perplexing lady of grace. Another chance?”_ That vocabulary sounded too much like a **_certain_** Englishman who would know something arbitrary and snobbish such as the meanings of a bunch of petals that would die in a week anyway. 

 

Wendy blushed and snapped the card shut, “And if I do? Jealous?” She chuckled when he scoffed. “Get going Stan. I want to hear back from you or Eric by the end of the week if we’re making this happen. If I don’t, I’m leaving the finances exactly as they are until you come up with something better to drop on my desk next time,” nudging him out with sisterly affection. She smiled as Stan waved good-bye, grumbling under his breath in protest of returning with no real answer. 

\------------------------------------------

Hazy memories plagued Butters when he fell into the twilight sedation consequential to working graveyard shift. Not fully passed out but not cognizant, he saw the same fuzzy scenario play out in minute vignettes. 

_A smaller figure stands across from him, his blue orbs seeming to draw nearer in his line of sight. The closer he sees blue, the more the memory fades away leaving a warm familiar feeling in his chest. Scene two, a blur of packing boxes and loading luggage before moving away. Seeing the same blue eyes fade into the distance, never to be recalled again. That warm feeling turned into cold dread first, wit suffocating and permanent numbness taking its place._

Butters greedily sucked in oxygen, shocked back at the sound of his office phone beeping for intercom pick-up. His eyes appeared wide with disorientation distorting his features. 

“Dr. B, you have a personal call on Line 1. Guy says it’s urgent he speak directly to you,” Gary gave what detail was available, basically none apparently.

“Ah..al..alright Gary, I’ll get it. Thanks,” he hummed at the nurses exuberant hand off. Indicator light on line one turned red, “This is Dr. Stotch.” 

“Heya doc...wait a minute. Dr. B, your last name is Stotch?” the male voice at the other end sounded winded but curious. If only the guy had given some identification first, they’d be getting somewhere.

Butters hoped this wasn’t a prank call at 3AM, “Well hang on there a minute fella. Why not tell me who you are before I answer that?” 

The voice chuckled, a break in the sound when he wheezed softly, “It's your Guardian Angel Mysterion. How’s it going? Miss me yet?” 

Playful banter was not expected, “Mysterion, its almost four in the morning, what in heaven's name is so important that you’re calling me ‘stead of sleeping?!” Butters rubbed away evidence from the sandman while lecturing another about staying up instead of sleeping. 

“Missed hearing your pretty voice. If that’s a crime, it won’t be the first on my list for the evening,” hacking coughs followed Mysterion’s remark. Strings of cuss words floated through the phone, Butters blushing like a schoolgirl at some of the filthier expressions, “God dammit, stop doing that! All you’re doing is digging it in deeper, I’ve got vital organs in there you know. Like to maybe keep them for a while.”

"Shut the fuck up and deal. It's your carelessness that got us here," another male voice entered the conversation. Snarky, with an undertone of annoyance.

Wheels turned despite his sleep-addled brain, and Butters sorted through what little he knew about his former patient with these presenting symptoms. “Where’s the damage and how deep is it? My bet is that you need more intensive care than home remedies since you’re calling me.”

“He’s sharper than you let on,” the irritable voice sounded out again, “Now get on with it. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Lucifer in training here has come to steal my soul away. Need some help keeping him at bay Dr. B,” the voice was softer, pain portrayed with each labored inhale, “Puncture wound 101. Item lodged in muscle near the hip area. Unsure how far down or whats around it. Take it out or leave it in?”

The doctor’s comeback was immediate, “Leave it until you get here. Stop any blood loss, and patch up the wound without touching it too much. Monitor for shock symptoms. You’ll need scans and tests to determine what damage has been done…”

The stranger cut him off, “No way in hell you’re leaving this spot after that shit you just pulled. They’ll tail your ass the whole way there and make you bottom bitch when you’re caught.”

“While he is one whiney fucker, our friend has a point. Don’t worry too much doc, this isn’t our first rodeo handling first aid,” Mysterion’s dark humour was fraying Butters’s sensitive nerves, “How often should we change the patch materials?”

“If you’re not coming here, you need to change it as often as the blood seeps through. Probably every hour or so. I don’t recommend removing the particle on your own, but it could get infected if it stays in the body. Watch for any change in color to the wound, fluids oozing out of the puncture spot, and things like fevers to indicate it’s been contaminated,” Butters tried his best to be thorough but simple in instructions. 

“You heard the doc! Monitor me,” giddy laughter spouted from the other end, “You’re my hero Dr. B. I’ll have your reward the next time I come see you.” 

“Please come see me soon. Before this gets any worse,” Butters frowned. 

“You’ve missed me too huh? Alright, _Dr. Stotch,_ ” Mysterion returned to a serious tone, “If it gets worse, I’ll have our friend here find a way to sneak me to Hell’s Pass to see your cute face. Make you feel better?

Butters couldn’t expect anything else at this point, “I s’pose. I don’t guess you’ll come any sooner than when it gets worse?” 

“Nah. We’ve got it. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me,” labored breaths increased frequency with the conversation drawing to a close. 

Whatever possessed the ER doctor to do what he did next, no one could say, “I want you to write something down for me. Can you do that?” Shuffling on the other end of the line signaled someone was getting ready to take down the doctor’s orders. Butters gave a series of ten digits, “Call or text that number if it gets worse. I’ll come to you if you really can’t leave wherever you are. Understood?”

Snarky and annoyed returned to the receiver, “He’s out cold. Pain knocked him out for a bit I guess. I’ll keep this nearby in case the worse should come to be. Thanks for the help.” One final click ended their conversation, leaving Butters to wonder if his patient would live. Whatever he’d stepped into by inviting Mysterion into his life glued him to consequences that remained unpredictable. 

For better or worse was yet to be determined.


	7. Dangerous Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: First part of this story contains elements of rape/sexual assault. Please be aware of this as you read for those who may not feel comfortable. 
> 
> I've been told by my beta reader that I can't stop now that I've gone this far with the story, so while updates are slow please know we'll get to the end eventually. Thank you for sticking with me, and I hope this next chapter is a good read!

Paranoia came with being both anxious by nature and addicted without choice. The physical symptoms of intoxication and withdrawal came and went, but that feeling of being targeted for misfortune never seemed to disappear. Opening the coffee shop alone at 4:30 in the morning kept Tweek watching his back, and resulting adrenaline fueled his full-on search for murderers lurking around dark corners inside the building.  
  
It wasn’t that people were specifically out to get _him_.  
  
He was sometimes able to talk himself into believing that idea.  
  
That wasn’t always easy with the shit that dragged in an hour or so after unlocking the doors for business. His parents’ more delusional customers tended to come at dawn’s break, not wanting attention from prying eyes on the street. Not that his caregivers were ever there to witness the lunacy or protect their child from events that fed his unmanageable neurosis.  
  
A newer patron arrived after the first wave made their purchases and went on their way. Tweek never bothered to learn anyone’s name, figuring it would be a fake alias or too slurred to pronounce. This dude was middle aged at least, sporting a lecherous stare and overly toned physique. Tweek recognized the visitor as a frequent flyer at CLASSi’s during the evenings, and bouncers always kept close in the event he got too handsy with dancers or waitresses.  
  
“Good morning sir. What can I get you?” Tweek twitched violently, but kept his voice steady. The man did not stop at the counter to respond, opting to move behind the bar. Tweek had experienced clients making their own cups before, which his parents allowed provided they didn’t go overboard. When the stranger moved closer into his personal space, Tweek could tell something else was on the menu in his mind.  
  
“You can call me Master. And I’ll take a tall order of you to go,” Tweek quickly slipped his hand from the fingers wrapping around his wrist. Running through the opening in the counter, the blonde attempted to get to the front door and away from the situation.  
  
Before reaching the door, the same hand wrapped around his forearm and pulled him back into the man’s hulking chest. Tweek was thrown against the bar, stomach impacted by the marble countertops pushing oxygen completely out of his system. He felt scratchy material wrap around his wrists, tears beginning to streak down his face despite his silence. Years of abuse taught that crying went unheard, and prayers for mercy followed the same rule.  
  
“I tend to like fighters, but not really in the mood kid. Perhaps you’d be sweet enough to just obey Master hm?” the utterance sounded close to his ear, heated breath sweeping over the double pierced lobes.  
  
Tweek attempted to kick his heel into what he hoped would be a tender area. “Back the fuck off!” he screeched, flailing his legs without making contact. He managed to turn himself over slightly to improve his aim. If he was going to die for this, he’d at least go out fighting. A sharp elbow to his ribs caused him to hit his knees.  
  
Face to face with his attacker’s open zipper, paralysis in his extremities limited his ability to move away. Choked sobbing noises finally escaped him when he felt fingers pull his hair harshly. He tried to look at the front doors to see if there was anyone, but couldn’t see past the figure facing him. Thoughts flew rapidly through his mind, his morning doses of coffee impairing his already compromised judgment and cognitions.  
  
“Hopefully you’ll be easier on your knees,” the voice destroyed what little control Tweek had over his brain.  
  
“P..pl..please, please s-s-stop! If you let me out of this, I’ll send you home with as much coffee as you want,” traitorous pleas escaped, awaiting the crushing feeling of being let down by the resulting answer. “I know I’m not worth a month’s worth of your morning fix, please!” Tweek’s chest never allowed a full breath, his heart beat increasing speed past what the coffee kickstarted.  
  
Neither heard the door swing open while Tweek begged to be released, or the clicking of a safety release. The resulting gunfire would have startled Tweek if the body that crushed him underneath didn’t accomplish that more efficiently.  
  
Light blinded him once the body was pulled off by this good samaritan. “Thank you… ** _Craig?!_** ” Tweek rubbed his hazel orbs. Sure enough, there stood his ex-boyfriend in the normal suit and tie get-up standard for Token’s trusted men. Tweek knew the consigliere was always an early riser, and he was overly grateful for that habit today.  
  
“Hey,” Craig monotonously greeted, visually assessing for physical damage, “Anything broken?” He started to reach over to wipe blood off Tweek’s cheek.  
  
Tweek jerked away, wanting so badly to seek comfort from that touch but too pissed to allow it. “What the hell are you doing here?! I..I..I mean thank you for being here when you were, but why are you bothering to come to the shop this early? Or.. or at all for that matter?! It’s not like there’s anything here for you!” Tweek pulled himself to a kneeling position. Hissing from the pain in his rib cage, he attempted to get all the way up to make sure things behind the bar were still in tact.  
  
“Let me help please,” Craig offered, moving once again to assist.  
  
“I can do it myself, thanks,” Tweek snapped in return, “I appreciate the save truly, but I’ve been handling myself just fine without your help the past few years.”  
  
“If you consider being forced into working at a strip club and almost being assaulted handling yourself well then I clearly missed something,” Craig’s emotions were slipping from his usually iron grip, “I can also tell the addiction’s gotten worse based on your current state, even though I know you’ve been trying to cut it out completely. Not that Richard Tweak would ever bother to do something kind for his child…” One sharp smack rang out, Craig’s face turning from the force against his cheek towards his handiwork on the floor.  
  
“You missed plenty so shut the fuck up! You don’t get to make comments like that after you left me to deal with this on my own in the first place. You think this is the first time shit like this has happened?” Tweek shakily moved behind the counter for cleaning supplies, “We need to move that mess right now. You know where the trash compactor is out back. I’m going to have to scrub the floors before the next group of customers comes in.” He knew they both were avoiding conversations that needed to happen, but cover-up was crucial.  
  
Craig rubbed his cheek, the upper body strength he witnessed at CLASSi’s clearly extended beyond Tweek’s dancing. He didn’t argue, working on disposing of the evidence instead of forcing the two of them to talk.  
  
He finally managed to get everything outside to the dumpster, _I’ll have go to back to shower before meeting Token for this lunch thing. What a pain._ Craig absently listened to the grinding inside the trash, flipping off what used to be Tweek’s attacker. Craig was attuned to the sounds of a new guest arriving outside with him. The noriette took a deep breath before addressing the situation again, “I came here this morning with a proposition from the boss. Jimmy was supposed to have run this by your parents for approval already.”  
  
Tweek recalled the conversation with his mother about donating coffee that morning when one of Token’s tailors dropped by. Something to help with the investigation, at least that’s the line he was given. “She mentioned it. I don’t understand how that’s going to make us less suspicious, and I’m not sure that they’ll even accept the offer if they know anything about this place. Which they’d be the only ones in this town who didn’t if we’re both being honest,” Tweek started rambling off flaws, a familiar banter between the two.  
  
Fortunately, Craig was sent for this exact purpose, “Tweek, I hear you when you say it doesn’t seem logical. But when the boss hands down an order it’s going to be followed. Plus you and I both know Token’s better at this business shit than either of us.” Craig’s self-discipline was tested watching Tweek’s tics increase with the pressure of the unknown. He wanted to offer some kind of comfort, but that wasn’t welcome apparently, “So can I please just pick up the fucking coffee and move on since you seem so hellbent about sending me on my fucking way.”  
  
Tweek’s lips pinched together, hurt emanating off both men in the back alley. His voice shrunk and arms crossed his chest, “I don’t want you to go. I never did Craig.” “  
  
Craig swallowed the lump in his throat threatening to burst at that statement.  
  
“That’s why I can’t figure out how to let you back in when I didn’t let you go willingly,” Tweek’s gaze fixed on some blood spots drying into the concrete, knowing Craig wouldn’t speak until their eyes met. “You don’t think there were other offers? Especially after starting at CLASSi’s, god those bastards just wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Their gazes finally met, Tweek’s lids lined with shining liquid, “With all that, I still sit here alone. Waiting foolishly for what I considered the best thing in my life to come back to me.”  
  
“Well...if that best thing came back, why are you avoiding what you want?” the answer was obvious, but Craig wanted to make sure. Tweek deserved the time to get all of this out, given he was left with no one after Craig vanished.  
  
Tweek walked closer to Craig, the latter’s facial expression neutral as usual. Confidence began to color his strides, his voice gaining strength, “Because when you sat at the bar that night, I thought I was hallucinating again. It wouldn’t be the first time chasing a high to try and remember your face. Then the idea you were back became real, and I knew that you could slip away just as easily as the first time.”  
  
Craig recognized the eyes staring back at him as the ones that appeared when Tweek lost himself to the music at CLASSi’s. He realized he was utterly fucked. “And if I don’t plan on going anywhere? What then Tweekers?” Craig pulled out the nickname to tug at the blonde’s heartstrings. He felt lithe fingers jerk his jet black tie in retort, knowing he was at Tweek’s mercy.  
  
“It’s cute you think you have a choice Tucker,” Tweek smirked, running his nose along Craig’s jawline. Feeling victorious at the shudder running down Craig’s spine, he wrapped the tie around his hand a second time. Pulling the two closer together, Tweek’s voice cooed mischievously, “Let’s play a little game.”  
  
“ _Tweek_ ,” Craig groaned, feeling a hand grab at the bulge in his slacks.  
  
“If you can walk away without shoving me against this wall and reminding me just how well we fit together, you call the shots,” Tweek’s teeth gently dragged down Craig’s earlobe, “If not, I stay in control of this arrangement.”  
  
Craig’s fierce embrace gave his answer, pushing Tweek back towards the cold brick. He lifted his partner higher against the wall to kiss him deeper. Tweek’s legs snaked around Craig’s waist, calves coming to rest at the base of his spine. Tweek sharply inhaled feeling Craig’s hands run up his thighs, gripping them as if he would forget the feeling.  
  
Tweek ran his fingers through Craig’s noir locks, pulling away from the embrace, “I guess this means you want me in charge then?” Short nails scratching delicately at the nape of Craig’s hairline.  
  
Craig bit down firmly on Tweek’s neck, leaving a claiming mark on his twitchy lover. Tweek moaned, tilting his head back against the wall to give full access. Craig released the pale skin, “There’ll be more of a fight when I haven’t waited so long, but you win this round.”  
  
Neither male was aware of how long they stayed in that embrace.  
  
Tweek jumped from Craig’s arms when he heard voices wafting out of the shopfront, “Shit! I’m coming, give me a second!” He looked torn, waiting for Craig to say something.  
  
“Get going,” He nudged Tweek gently, “I have an order to pick up when I get done out here remember?”  
  
\----------------  
  
“Good afternoon Wendy,” Gregory remarked, “What an immense pleasure having you brighten up the office today!” Exasperated mumbles sounded to display Christophe’s frustration with the shameless flirt. Next thing he knew, the dolt would begin serenading his object of affection.  
  
“Flattery gets you nowhere with me,” Wendy waved dismissively, “Hello Christophe.” She received a half-hearted grunt, more than the usual stoic stare at least. She settled into a small chair next to Gregory’s desk, pulling out a plain envelope with scripted handwriting on the front, “I brought something that I think may help with the investigation. That is, if you two are interested?”  
  
Christophe perked up instantly while Gregory gave a coy smile, “Oh ho. I believe we have a professional mastermind in our midsts.” Wendy pushed the envelope across the desktop, the two detectives curiously eyeing the unknown contents. Gregory’s eyebrows raised upon viewing the document enclosed, “This is quite generous and unexpected indeed. We owe you a great debt of gratitude.”  
  
Christophe whistled, “Perhaps you could share more as to ‘ow you came across zis large of a donation?”  
  
Wendy motioned to the envelope again, Gregory pulling out a handwritten note included with the check. He began to read aloud, “ _Our hope is that this donation will assist with another brilliantly executed La Resistance like our childhood days. May it serve you well during your work in Park County. - CCC_ ” Haughty noises escaped the detective, frustration at how this donation changed their main lead’s guilty look in the dealings they had been painstakingly tracking for months. “You appear as if there is something weighing on your mind further. Care to clue us in Wendy?” Gregory raised his brows when she would not make eye contact with him.  
  
“Know that this has been shared with the understanding that publicizing the donor is not necessary or wise,” Wendy cut her eyes to the two men across from her, “With such a large corporation, decisions made by the financial team don’t always get passed by the top tier executives or consultants.” The two nodded in understanding, the fearful look in her eyes was brief but apparent. Wendy granted them a small smirk, “This is a dangerous move to make, but I felt compelled to try and help however possible. Recent deliveries to my office granted me the chance to gift this to you without consequences.”  
  
“Your concerns are noted, and will be followed with due diligence I can assure you,” Gregory pressed on, “Wendy, I don’t have to harp on the idea that this could backfire. Do try to be careful until our investigation is over.”  
  
The noirette fondly smiled, “Thank you for your concern. I’ll be just fine until you both get where you need to with this investigation. Hopefully this gift will speed that process along hmm?” She giggled as he began listing all the things they had been unable to get thus far due to financial constraints. The two began chatting about optimal ways to utilize the donation granted in the name of creating a safer Park County when a new figure appeared through their office door.  
  
“Good afternoon gentlemen. My name is Dougie O’Connell, lead reporter for Channel 4 News,” the ginger male wore circular glasses with no frame, orange curls framing his face, “I was hoping to introduce myself at the direction of my producer. Apparently you worked very closely with our last reporter Jason White?”  
  
The two detectives exchanged a quick glance before Gregory extended his hand, “We prefer to go by Gregory and Christophe. I’m surprised to see a new reporter taking Jason’s place, he seemed quite invested in uncovering the story behind our investigation.”  
  
Dougie smiled politely, “He offered information on the crime scene in Park County to assist you in return for that access I have no doubt. But sadly he was offered a new position that took him up river. Hopefully he ends up where he needed to be today.” Christophe frowned at the chilled tone of voice with those last two thoughts, and he could tell both Gregory and Wendy seemed slightly uncomfortable as well. “Regardless of our friend moving on to another spot, I came to discuss some details from the cases Jason had been neglecting to follow at our producer’s insistence. I was hoping we could shed some light on a few things that appear to influence your investigation?”  
  
Wendy used this as her cue to exit, “Thank you both for your time today. I’ll be on my way so you can devote full attention to our new reporter.” She nodded at Dougie before briskly walking towards the front of the police station.  
  
“Let’s cut ze crap, and get to it then. What investigations are you referring to?” Christophe motioned for the ginger to in the chair previously occupied by Wendy.  
  
Dougie moved to pull out a small notepad filled with shorthand scribbles, “Interestingly enough the two companies that continually get their employees brought up on charges that aren’t always well-founded happen to be minority owned corporations: Cartmanez Construction Company and Black Hand Tailor Shop.”  
  
“If you’re referring to the increase in unsavory behavior on the part of those rouges, then yes they’ve been brought to trial numerous times. I’m not sure what this has to do with some perceived racial bias,” Gregory’s inquisitive tone had a sharp edge.  
  
“Perception would mean there’s no evidence of actual occurrences. Park County police have a long history of framing innocent minorities out of jealousy and prejudice, so it’s curious this trend is appearing again with such affluent businesses. Care to comment?” Dougie flipped to a new lined page, awaiting a response from either man. He could tell they were cornered by his question, either a confirmation or a denial had implications that would not be positively interpreted by the general public.  
  
At least not if Dougie had anything to do with the way it was reported. Kyle Schwartz would not accept anything other than a well executed framing of these nosy bastards. The two detectives brief eye contact betrayed their insecurity around this topic.  
  
Gregory finally spoke out, “We are simply doing the job that has been assigned to us. Nothing more, nothing less. If you have no further questions, we’re expected for a meeting.”  
  
\------------------------------------------  
  
“Alright Cartman, what is all this about then?” Token straightened his tie, extending his arm for a firm handshake. He noticed the addition of another player to the board, one that he wasn’t aware had joined the game, “I cancelled setting a catering menu for this dinner, so it better damn important.” Nicole had been overtly displeased having to postpone another wedding planning milestone, and Token knew he would hear about it for the next few days.  
  
_This black asshole._ Cartman’s disdain for the situation evenly matched his counterpart, “Look, I’m not thrilled either. But as you know those stupid detectives have gotten too close for comfort. In order to have the extra assistance, it was deemed necessary to have all parties involved.” The two mobs harbored little love for each other. Craig and Stan began plotting the other’s demise from the moment they were in line of sight. Kenny and Clyde managed civil greetings despite obvious tension, taking the initiative to interact in order to avoid ignition of a conflict between the two noriettes.  
  
“Hello Token, it’s very nice to have you here. Kyle Schwartz, visiting from New York,” Kyle rose from his seat at the table to greet his fellow godfather, “As Eric said, I think it’s important we are on the same page in order to handle this situation you two are facing. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble getting here?” Kyle motioned for the newcomers to join the party at their large table. The two Kyles sat next to each other, whispering in hushed tones while the others took their seats.  
  
“Kenny, you alright man? You look a little pale,” Stan leaned over to the underboss. Kenny mumbled something incoherent, waving off the comment despite sweat starting to appear on his face and a hand clutching at his side. Cartman snapped at both of them, motioning them to focus on the conversation at hand.  
  
“Unless that thing has the answer to the meaning of life, put it away _now_ ,” Token’s irritation with the situation channeled into reprimanding Craig texting under the table. Craig leaned over, “While it doesn’t have that, it does tell me that the Tweaks are refusing to pay protection money. We need to enact the contract boss.” Token groused, “We’ll discuss the details later. For now let’s focus on putting out this firm.” Clyde and Craig both nodded, shifting their focus to the starting conversation.  
  
“My source tells me that investigators have figured out a spot called CLASSi’s is a distribution hub for both of your organizations’ product,” Kyle pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “How often do your men cross paths there when dealing with customers?”  
  
Token shifted uncomfortably, talking openly about business practices in any forum made him tense. However, the Jewish mafioso had a point that they were dealing with feds that were sharp enough to keep close on their heels. An exception would have to be made, “Our lead tailor at that location sees Cartmen’s men frequently. Not sure if they are on speaking terms, but Kevin tends to be professional regardless of who he deals with as long as he is respected for the businessman he is.”  
  
“He’s enough of a blabbermouth to talk about some bachelor party that’s going to be happening for you at CLASSi’s,” Cartman quipped, “Bradley handles orders with the crew at the club, and seems to talk with Kevin quite a bit. I suppose they have a decent working relationship.”  
  
Craig retorted, “You’re relying on information from the kid who came up with the superhero persona ‘Mintberry Crunch.’ What a brilliant fucking choice.”  
  
“Shut up Craig,” Stan rolled his eyes, “Don’t blame Bradley for being a reminder of the first time you let Tweek walk out of your life without a fight.” Kyle’s eyes widened at his boyfriend’s cold hearted reproach, leaning over to slap a hand across his mouth before it caused more trouble.  
  
Craig would have cleared the table in seconds had Token and Clyde not stood up to hold him back. “Fuck off Marsh!” Craig dropped back into his chair, flipping his middle finger towards that side of the room.  
  
“Well this has just been enlightening,” the Jewish godfather held his glasses to the light before cleaning them with his handkerchief, “Kyle, how you and that Thomas fellow we discussed have kept these children out of jail is astounding. I truly am in awe of your legal prowess.”  
  
Stan crossed his arms over his chest, resembling a petulant child after being found with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. The red head finally released his face and turned to his cousin, “It’s been a challenge at times I won’t lie to you. I am sure Thomas has had similar struggles with pig-headed behavior.”  
  
Cartman and Token appeared equally frustrated at the turn of events in front of an important ally. “Look you dipshits, grow the fuck up. We’re going to have to work together regardless of your obvious deficiencies in professional business behavior,” Cartman looked between the two noirettes, “I mean for Christ’s sake, Kenny grew up poor white trash and he still acts quieter and calmer in a diplomatic setting than the two “consiglieres” in this room. Now shut the fuck up and let’s get down to how to deal with these sneaky pigs about to put us all away for life.” Token nodded in agreement when Cartman motioned for a response from him, both awaiting further questions from their dinner host.  
  
“Well that’s much better,” the brunette wheezed, “Now from what I understand the feds are looking for a time and place to stage the biggest drug bust this side of the Mississippi River. There needs to be a decoy that can permanently get them off this case and away from this side of the country.” He surveyed the faces lost in thought around the room, becoming hopeful that just maybe these redneck hicks could pull something intricate and conniving out of their asses.  
  
“That bachelor party the boss mentioned earlier,” Stan felt defeated having to ask, “Maybe, ugh….maybe we could use that evening to work together and shut down Gregory and Christophe for sure?”  
  
Craig cringed at the thought of Stan and those assholes being included in their celebration of the Don, but he knew this was the most logical and practical thing his parallel came up with all evening. ” Clyde’s whining started earlier than Craig anticipated, “No way! I worked way too hard to getting all that approved by the Head Seamstress as it was, and we’re gonna ruin it by making it some potential event where all hell breaks loose? Boss that’s not right!”  
  
Cartman waited for Token’s reply to the suggestion, curious to see what happened when the Black Hand Tailor was in charge of creating a cover-up of this magnitude. He had already worked hard at covering up Malkinson’s leak to the investigators, it was time to have someone else do the heavy lifting. He noticed his own underboss’s withdrawn behavior and closed eyes during most of the conversation, and was not pleased with his demeanour. “Kenny, get your head out of your ass and start working with us here,” He lowered his voice to give the command privately. He received something like sounded like a mumbled apology, waving off the sentiment to return to the issue at hand.  
  
“We’ll extend the invitation for you three to join us that evening along with Broflovski. Thomas was already planning to attend, so it will be beneficial to have both lawyers there should things go south,” Token took out his phone to send a calendar invite to those mentioned, “Time and date are included with that invite, but as you see we have only a week to get everything pulled together in time. Nicole has already laid some groundwork for a plan we started to form on our own, but we were missing a piece that this partnership will allow us to have: bait to attract the investigators.”  
  
The Jewish Don seemed pleased as the men began to gradually hash out details and set deadlines for tasks that needed to be accomplished prior to the event. Kyle hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate the mafiosos that made up this motley crew, and each had their own unique way of addressing things. He zoned in on his cousin’s childhood friend Kenny, who seemed nervous by the looks of the sweat on his face and hands wrapped in front of his stomach. He nudged Kyle gently, nodding his head towards the blonde sitting near them. They exchanged worried expressions before addressing their concerns discreetly while the others continued collaboration.  
  
“Kenny...you okay?” Kyle tapped his friend’s shoulder gently, receiving a weak groan from the man. His rosy cheeks and sweating cued Kyle to feel his forehead, “Shit Kenny, you’re burning up.” Kyle guessed he had a high grade fever over 100 degrees at least. Kenny reached in his pocket, unlocking his phone while flipping through the different screens. His breathing became labored, and once he moved his hand Kyle observed the side he was clutching closer. He lifted the blonde’s shirt to find blackened skin necrosis around a decent sized puncture wound, looking up worriedly at his friend.  
  
Kenny finally stopped messing with his phone, placing it on the table in front of Kyle as his consciousness slipped. He fell face first into Kyle’s person, eventually hitting the floor while the others tried to figure out what just happened. Stan followed soon after Kenny fell, feeling for his carotid pulse.  
  
Kyle looked at the phone screen in front of him, and immediately clicked call.  
  
_”Where are you?”_


End file.
